


On the Surface

by Pegacorn



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossdressing Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-04-13 01:40:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 91,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4502868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pegacorn/pseuds/Pegacorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Outlast AU) It wasn't the nicest place for a new beginning, but Waylon was ready to start living his life for himself. If only everything at Mount Massive Shopping Complex wasn't so strange. Between his new romance to a man with a past, the discovery of new, taboo desires, and suspicious activities around the complex...will this new move bring him the fulfilling life of his dreams, or push him into a new nightmare?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moving Day

**Author's Note:**

> AU so characters are changed, no asylum etc. The romance is M/M and explicit. Canon-Typical violence to be expected before the end.

“You're not sleeping here are you?” Lisa asked in an incredulous voice, punctuating the sentence by dropping a large box full of computer parts onto the thinly carpeted floor. 

“Not right away. Maybe. I don't know,” said Waylon, sighing as the parts hit the floor with a crunch. He set his own box down much more carefully and dusted off his hands on his jeans. “I'll still be living at the apartment—until I can decide on what to do permanently.”

“I just don't like the feel of this place,” said Lisa, giving an exaggerated shiver. It was summer in Colorado and there was no reason for the chill. “Creeps me out a little. And what is that smell?”

True, the Mount Massive Business Complex was aging and not on the best part of town, but you couldn't beat the rent. That was the most important factor for a small business just starting out. Plus, Waylon had gotten a great deal by agreeing to help the complex's managing company with some information technology needs for the complex. 

The complex itself was a large parking lot encircled by a giant steel fence, but the gate was always open, and the fence seemed to have fallen in disrepair. There was one line of shops with a crumbling sidewalk and at the back of the lot was a guarded entrance to the larger Murkoff Chemical. The building visible in the distance was gray and square. There was not much in the way of visual presentation with this shopping center.

“I don't see why you needed a shop front in the first place,” Lisa mumbled, and Waylon just rolled his eyes. It was the same argument they'd had before. “You could have just gotten a nice van or something. Maybe a PT Cruiser like the Geek Squad used to drive?”

“Lisa,” Waylon said firmly. “You know how I feel about PT Cruisers.”

“Okay okay, I know,” grinned the brown haired woman. She managed to still look great wearing torn jeans, faded old t-shirt, and a messy ponytail. “I have faith in your business. You're too smart not to be a success Way.”

The pizza arrived shortly after and the couple finished up with the last of the boxes before digging into the thin crust with mushrooms and olives. “Mmm,” Lisa said finishing up her third square. “My next fiance better like the same kind of pizza as me. I've gotten too used to not having to argue about toppings.”

Waylon chuckled. “I'm sure you can bully your next fiance into liking olives too, Lis.”

“I know you're not moving out, but this still feels so weird,” Lisa said, her voice getting softer as she looked at Waylon.

“I'm less than fifteen minutes away. And I'm still going to be sleeping back at the apartment most of the time,” said Waylon.

“Yeah, but you'll be sleeping when I'm not there,” she muttered. “Speaking of which, I need to get going soon. I want to shower before my shift.”

“Absolutely Nurse Lisa,” teased Waylon. “I really can't say thank you enough for your help today, babe.” The pair walked down the narrow staircase into the main floor crowded with boxes. Waylon had his work cut out for him tonight, and he was already feeling very sore. He wasn't the most muscular man with his short stature, and thin, wiry build. The pair held hands without a second thought and Waylon led Lisa out through the front door of his shop front which was all floor to ceiling thick glass, reinforced with iron bars. It really wasn't the best side of town, as mentioned. 

Once outside, the pair was sitting in the fading afternoon glow and the buzz of streetlights that had just switched on. “Take it easy. Don't pull a muscle or work yourself to death. I'll come by tomorrow afternoon before my next hospital shift.”

“Alright. Thanks again, Lis,” said Waylon. He leaned and kissed Lisa softly on the lips. There was no heat behind the kiss. It was more out of habit than anything else, but the gesture made the nurse smile. 

“Love you, Way,” she said, turning toward her black Honda. Waylon stayed out front until she had gotten in the car and driven out of the complex. The area was mostly a dilapidated strip-mall with a handful of stores anchored by the larger Murkoff Chemical that owned the entire area and rented to its shop tenants. Waylon surveyed the parking area and found that the lighting was lacking, the asphalt cracking in several places, and what little landscaping had been done was overgrown with weeds and anthills. Still, it was cheap.

Waylon turned back toward his new shop when he heard the light jingle of a door's bell. He looked up surprised to see another tenant standing in the door way. He was a tall man, very well built, wearing a tailored shirt and vest, complete with bow-tie and pinstriped blue pants. His face was chiseled and handsome; his black hair styled in an undercut that was slicked back precisely. Waylon found it hard to stop admiring the gentleman. He held in his hand a sign that he was in the middle of flipping from “Come in, We're Open” to “Sorry! We're Closed!” The sign above the door read Gluskin's Tailoring and Alterations. Through the iron bars of the front windows, Waylon could just make out the shadowy figures of fine dresses on wooden dress forms. 

“Oh uh,” Waylon was horrible with small talk. “Hi there. Uh. Neighbor.”

“Welcome to the complex,” said the gentleman, setting the sign down in the window in the “Closed” position. “You're not another dance studio, are you?” The man's tone was dark and serious.

“What? Oh, no. Uh, computer repair, and software technician,” Waylon said, hands flying to his jeans only to realize he had been working all day and neglected to put any of his old business cards in his pockets. Instead he walked over to the man and lamely held out a hand. “Waylon Park.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Park,” the man said, his tone becoming much more congenial. The gentleman shook Waylon's hand firmly with a wry smile. Maybe learning it was a quiet computer nerd instead of a dance studio had perked up his mood. “Eddie Gluskin.”

“Do you, uh, live here as well?” Waylon asked. It was a valid question since all of the shops were equipped with two room apartments upstairs where some of the tenants would live. 

“Indeed,” nodded Mr. Gluskin. “And you?”

“Uh, well, that's not determined yet. Right now I am still staying with Lisa,” Waylon said.

“Ah, Lisa is your...?” the tailor left the question hanging between them.

Well. That was a tricky answer. And Waylon was having a difficult time focusing while staring at the handsome, fit, well-dressed man. “She's my friend. My roommate now, I suppose. We were engaged. So I guess she's my ex-fiance? It's complicated.” Mr Gluskin gave a thoughtful hum as an awkward silence fell between the two. 

“Well, it was certainly great to make your acquaintance Mr. Park,” said Mr. Gluskin and Waylon noticed for the first time how absolutely striking Mr. Glukin's blue eyes were. Like they were almost glowing from within with an azure fire. Eddie Gluskin was the most handsome man Waylon had met since his recent realization. Or possibly ever. 

“Likewise, Mr. Gluskin. Oh, and I am going to be doing the IT work for the complex as well. So if you need anything don't hesitate to knock on my door...”

“Actually, I have been meaning for weeks now to set up my new computer. It's actually my first ever computer and I am rather intimidated. Would you be able to help me get it operational and connected to the interweb?” Eddie asked, his tone formal and brow crinkled in confusion. The guy definitely talked like he didn't know much about computers. Waylon chuckled at his neighbor's discomfort.

“Sure thing. I can stop by tomorrow morning. Can we say ten?” Waylon offered. Waylon looked up at the man, realizing how much taller Mr. Gluskin was than himself. Waylon would have also guessed that he was older, since Waylon was twenty eight and Mr. Gluskin seemed somewhere in his late thirties.

“Sounds perfect,” nodded Mr. Gluskin. He started to turn back toward his shop when Waylon inhaled deeply at the sight of him leaving, and caught that same odor from before.

“What is that smell? I didn't notice it when the Realtor showed me the place, but I am definitely noticing it today,” Waylon said.

“The smell like burnt rubber and chemicals?” Mr Gluskin asked with a wry smile on his handsome face. “Something from the Murkoff people. Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Is it always this strong? It's not dangerous is it?” Waylon asked.

“The smell comes and goes,” shrugged the tall man in his fine clothing. “And as for if it's dangerous, well, I would like to believe in a world where companies wouldn't subject innocent citizens to dangerous chemical byproducts,” Eddie said. When he continued his voice was much lower. “But I have seen enough darkness to know this isn't that world.”

Waylon watched as the man walked into his shop and carefully started the process of locking the door. There were several locks in place and it took the better part of a minute before he finally shuttered a metal screen over the inside of the door and gave a parting glance at Waylon. Dammit. Eddie caught him staring. Waylon coughed and averted his eyes, quickly rushing back into his own shop. 

There was still work to be done before he wanted to return to his apartment for the night. Waylon would have to get work done while ignoring thoughts of his tall, dark, handsome neighbor.


	2. Not Your Color

Waylon was up before Lisa returned home from the hospital and the two shared a quick breakfast before she wandered back into the bedroom that used to be theirs together and was now hers alone. Waylon drove his old Volkswagen GTI back to his new office in the Mount Massive Business Complex. 

He had made good progress the night before, getting all of the boxes organized and separated, but he still had a large amount of cheap shelving to put together as well as a desk in a box. Waylon wished his muscles weren't so sore from all of the strenuous activity of moving the day before. 

A couple of white aluminum shelves were erected before ten o'clock rolled around and Waylon locked up his shop to visit his next door neighbor. The “Open” sign was in the window and the bell jingled happily as Waylon opened the door to Gluskin's Tailoring and Alterations. 

The first thing Waylon heard was a woman's voice coming from a curtained off area that seemed to act as a fitting room. Whoever it was, she was giggling. 

“You're sure we couldn't go maybe, a little, shorter?” the woman's voice said, her tone dipping suggestively. 

“I believe the bride specified it should be two inches above the knee. Anything shorter and you would look like a whore, darling,” came Mr. Gluskin's voice. Waylon choked on a laugh at the brash answer. 

“Well,” snapped the female voice, suddenly much less flirtatious. 

Waylon looked around the shop. The area was rather bare save for some dress forms wearing gorgeous gowns and a table full of notebooks. The main attraction was a dais surrounded by three mirrors situated in front of the fitting area. Waylon decided to walk to the table of notebooks to keep him occupied while Mr. Gluskin finished up with his customer. 

“Ouch!” came the female voice.

“You really must stand still while I am pinning,” admonished Mr. Gluskin.

“I have something you could pin,” was the answer, the suggestive tone having returned. 

Waylon flipped through a notebook and saw it was page after page of fabric samples for different types of fabrics. Most of them looked white.

“There. You can return at the end of the week and I will have it finished,” said Mr. Gluskin.

“I'll pick it up on say, Friday? Around five? Maybe you'd like to take me out to dinner afterwards, hmm?”

“Madam. That is the absolute last thing I would ever want to do with you,” was Mr. Gluskin's answer. Angry female noises followed and soon Mr. Gluskin appeared from behind the curtain wearing a different blue vest with matching pants. His white button-up shirt was untucked slightly and a scowl was on his handsome face. Angry blue eyes flashed up and landed on Waylon...

“Hey Mr. Gluskin. Sorry, I hope this isn't a bad time,” said Waylon, closing the notebook of different shades of white silk he had been staring at bored.

“Ah, Mr. Park. No, you are right on time. I am just finishing up with a sl...customer,” said Mr. Gluskin, walking to the counter that held a ledger book, calculator, and locked money box. The guy really did not use a computer. Waylon found that intriguing. 

Minutes later a woman emerged from the dressing room and Waylon's eyes widened. She was enough to turn any man's eye. Well, almost any man, he ammended. The bombshell had silky black hair, plump red lips, and a figure that was both generous and toned. The dress she was holding was some hideous shade of purple and her eyes were narrowed as she walked to the counter and thrust the garment into Mr. Gluskin's line of sight. Mr. Gluskin did not look up, writing something in his ledger with a small, precise hand. 

“Well,” the woman said, after several seconds of being ignored. “See you Friday.” And then quieter, “Jackass.” Her black heels clicked on the thin carpet as she walked out of the tailor's shop, shapely hips swaying as she went. Waylon caught himself staring. Old habits or she was just that hot?

After the door shut behind her and the jingling of the bells died away, Waylon waited. Finally, he cleared his throat. “You uh, still want me to work on your uh, computer?” He had searched all around the main area and saw no signs of anything electronic what-so-ever. 

Mr. Gluskin closed the ledger with a loud slap and then turned a charming smile onto Waylon. “Ah, yes. I need help getting my shop up to date. I finally decided to welcome some technology into my home.” The large man smiled and Waylon lost his breath a little. Mr. Gluskin walked into a back area that was blocked off by curtains and dress forms. 

Waylon wandered close to one of the dress forms as he waited. The dress was knee-length, made of ivory silk, and the entire bodice was decorated with lace and seed-pearls. Waylon dared to reach out a hand and lightly finger some of the lace around the neckline. The material felt so silky and enticing. Waylon briefly wondered what it would feel like to wear a dress like that, then immediately questioned what the hell was wrong with him to think of such a thing. He froze when he heard Mr. Gluskin reappear from behind the curtains. He looked down and realized his hand was resting in a place that would have been extremely inappropriate had the dress form been a real woman. Waylon quickly removed his hand with a blush.

Mr. Gluskin returned carrying a large cardboard box as easily as if it were empty. He dropped it on the counter with a loud thump. “It's not your color, darling,” said Mr. Gluskin and Waylon saw a smile on his face. “I would see you looking more beautiful in pure white.”

Was he joking? Waylon wasn't sure he was joking. Had Mr. Gluskin read his thoughts about wearing the gown? Waylon gave an uncomfortable chuckle as his cheeks blushed obviously. He turned his attention instead to the box Mr. Gluskin had set on the table. The realization suddenly dawned on him. Oh. That was the computer. Well, it was going to be a long day. 

Mr. Gluskin had no idea about technology it would seem. Waylon got started setting up the computer. Wherever he had bought the computer, the staff had been knowledgeable because it came with everything necessary for internet connections and there was even a separate printer in the back. Waylon knew he had a lot of unpacking and building to do in his own shop, but he decided it was worth it to help out a new neighbor and make a friend. It had nothing to do with how physically attracted he was to this neighbor. Well, almost nothing. 

A handful of other customers walked in that day—all beautiful women, and all flirting with Mr. Gluskin. The man seemed tired bordering on irritated by all of their attentions. One was requesting a custom gown, something she'd obviously done here in the past before, and the others were picking up or dropping off items for alterations. 

Waylon was finally finishing up as the afternoon wore on. “Do you do any tailoring for men?” he asked while waiting on all of the software components to update. 

“Do you have something you need tailored?” asked Mr. Gluskin from the counter where he was writing meticulous notes in a small leather journal. 

“No. I pretty much dress...” Waylon looked down at his ratty jeans and untucked button shirt, “well, I don't dress up much. I just noticed it seems to be mostly women here.”

Mr. Gluskin gave an appreciative hum and considered the question. “I suppose I have an affinity for working on women's clothing. They tend to dress with more fit and flare.”

Waylon supposed it was a normal answer. He wasn't much into fashion. Especially not women's fashion. “Well, your computer is just about ready to go. Just finishing updating some of your drivers and then you are ready for the internet.” The tailor had already made the arrangements before but had lacked the ability to use the internet connection he had purchased. 

Mr. Gluskin walked behind the computer and his bright blue eyes widened in wonder. “Amazing. You realize I have absolutely no idea how to use this machine.”

“That will have to be for another day,” chuckled Waylon. “Lisa will be here soon. She's going to help me build a desk.”

“Your ex-fiance. She is a carpenter?” Mr. Gluskin asked.

“Oh uh, no,” grinned Waylon. “She's a nurse. It's just a desk in a box. We're going to put it together. Hopefully we have all the tools.”

“I could help with this, if you would like,” offered Mr. Gluskin. 

“Oh you, uh, don't have to do that,” said Waylon, though the idea of spending even more time with the tall, attractive man definitely made for a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“You helped me, I could help you,” said Mr. Gluskin. “Also, I have a large collection of tools.” The smile he gave Waylon had his mouth going dry. Was that a euphemism? Waylon had no idea but he gave a nervous laugh.

“That sounds great then. Sure, we could use the help. Thanks, Mr. Gluskin.”

“Please. Call me Eddie,” he smiled in return. 

Lisa showed up right on time with beer and Chinese food. It took the nurse, the tech, and the tailor far longer to put together the cheap plywood desk than it should have, but no one was complaining. Lisa chatted up Eddie about his job and dealing with bridezillas. She herself had hoped to be one just recently, after all. Eddie told them about the other tenants in the small complex. In addition to their two shops, there was a chiropractor, a butcher, and a church before the large gray Murkoff building behind the guarded gate. The rest of the spaces were vacant including a few shops and a large shuttered up gymnasium.

“Is that chemical place—Murkoff Chemical—is that where all those weird smells are coming from?” asked Lisa, wrinkling up her nose as she leaned against the table. The shoddy furniture gave a strange groan and she quickly stopped leaning against it, drawing a laugh from all gathered. 

“That would be my guess,” muttered Eddie, running a hand over his slicked back black hair. “I must thank you for dinner and the company. I'm afraid I must get some stitching in before I can call it an evening. Thank you for your computer help, Mr. Park.”

“Waylon. You can just call me, Waylon.”

“Alright then, Waylon,” smiled Eddie, and the two men stood staring at one another possibly longer than was appropriate. Lisa looked back and forth between the two before clapping her hands together and breaking the strange silence. 

“I need to be getting to work,” she said, gathering her belongings and following Eddie to the door. “Great meeting you Eddie. Are you coming home tonight, Waylon?”

“Wha...” Waylon was still a little lost in those blue eyes. “Oh, yeah. See you at breakfast.”

“Alright. Later, boys,” said Lisa, holding the door open as Eddie walked out offering one last small wave before he disappeared. 

Waylon got busy setting up his desk, organizing his papers, and getting his own computer workstation up and running. He kept finding himself distracted with thoughts of his neighbor. The man worked with women, but seemed to despise them. He had absolutely no technological experience. And he made dresses that looked so pretty and felt so soft that Waylon was daydreaming about wearing one himself...


	3. Computering

Waylon waited around the next morning until Lisa was asleep after her night shift before driving back over to his new shop. He had several important phone calls to make regarding signs, fliers, business cards, and other accouterments that come with running your own business. It was finally happening. Waylon was going into business for himself. A knock on the glass caught his attention and he went to open the door. A tall man in a black suit and tie with slicked back brown hair and designer sunglasses was standing in the shade of Waylon's shop. Waylon carefully opened the reinforced glass door. 

“Good morning! May I help you?” Waylon asked the dapper man.

“Waylon Park?” the man said.

“Uh, yes...”

“Jeremy Blaire. We spoke on the phone. You're going to be handling the technical issues around the complex with the tenants?”

“Oh, Mr. Blaire. Nice to meet you in person, finally,” said Waylon. Mr. Blaire worked for Murkoff Chemical Incorporated and was responsible for overseeing the tenants and the upkeep of the strip-mall. If he had other duties, they were unknown to Waylon. 

“It's important that this area is secure. We can't have anyone getting close to the main building and managing to hack our own systems,” said Blaire, stepping past Waylon into the disorganized store. “Our network is secure, but consider this just an extra precaution. You'll be monitoring the area, checking for any strange new WiFi signals, suspicious activity on the signal available from the corporation, and assisting the tenants with their own technical issues. We can't have someone hacking them to get close to us.”

This was all detailed in the e-mail that Waylon had received when he accepted the job so he wasn't sure why Mr. Blaire was here telling him this now.

“Uh, yes sir, is there a problem or something you needed help with today?” Waylon asked.

“Just dropping by your credentials,” Blaire said, reaching into his pocket and retrieving a long envelope. He held it out toward Waylon, expectantly.

“Credentials?” 

“You're being granted limited access to Murkoff's own system as a way for you to keep watch for any outside attempts that might be directed from your area. Very. Limited. Access,” Mr. Blaire stressed the last part and lowered his sunglasses to glare properly at Waylon.

“Uh, yes sir,” Waylon said, lamely. 

“Good meeting you Mr. Park. Welcome to Mount Massive,” said Mr. Blaire before turning to walk back out of the door toward a shiny black Mercedes. The chemical plant was easily within walking distance, but the well-dressed man couldn't be bothered to walk that far. He didn't even get into the driver's seat. Someone had driven him the short distance to deliver the envelope to Waylon. It was an impressive waste of resources, but Waylon just shrugged it off and started to go back into the store before he heard that jingling store chime next door.

“Waylon?”

“Eddie! Good morning,” said Waylon, brightly.

“What did he want?” sneered Eddie. It was obvious he was talking about Blaire. The Mercedes disappeared behind the guarded entrance to Murkoff Chemical.

“Oh, dropping off some information for me. I'm technically working with Murkoff a little just as it pertains to the tenants here. They're really paranoid about people trying to hack their system for some reason. Afraid they might gain insider chemical secrets or something?”

Eddie scoffed and his face took on a dark expression. “Sleazy bastard. Takes too much of an interest in his tenants if you ask me...”

Waylon wasn't sure where the anger was coming from, but decided to change the subject. “How's the computer working out for you?”

“Oh uh,” Eddie moved up a hand to scratch at the shaved portion of his haircut with a bashful look on his face. “I'm not really good at computering.”

“Do you want me to show you some basics?” grinned Waylon. The fact that he would be working with the handsome man—alone—had nothing to do with it, right? Maybe a little.

Inside the tailor's shop was much the same as the day before, except the ivory dress that Waylon had so admired had been removed from the room and a different dress was in its place. The dress form looked slightly different than the rest with a waist that was not as small and shoulders that seemed larger. The new dress was little more than white silk pinned into place with some lace and notions pinned up experimentally. Waylon thought it would make a beautiful dress. Then again, he knew nothing about fashion. What he did know was computers. He walked up to Eddie's computer and opened up Google.

“So what are you trying to do on the internet?” he asked, and started to type something into the search bar only to have the man's recent searches pop up. Eddie obviously knew nothing about privacy settings.

The search history read as follows: “Hello. What Is Google. Google Sewing. Google Fabric Stores. Google Edward Gluskin. Google Waylon Park.”

The last search had Waylon going a little pink. His handsome neighbor had been researching him? Was that a good sign or a bad sign?

“Well,” Waylon said, quickly emptying the man's search history to avoid any embarrassment if Eddie could understand what Waylon was seeing. “For starters, you don't have to type “Google” to google something. You just type in whatever you're searching for.”

Eddie pulled up a stool and stood over Waylon's shoulder, leaning over slightly as the man gave him the basics of how to use the internet. Normally, Waylon would have little patience with this type of demonstration, but having Eddie's heat just over his shoulder made it almost enjoyable. He looked forward to the way the man's breath would puff across his neck when he asked a question. By the end of the tutorial, Waylon had set up a few bookmarks for the man with the sites he was most interested. He then stood up allowing Eddie to use the computer. Waylon bit back a chuckle when Eddie typed using two fingers and eyes glued to the keyboard. 

“You should get a website up and running. For the shop,” Waylon said, and Eddie's brow furrowed with distrust. 

“My biggest concern is leaving too much of a digital trail about myself. Don't trust these machines...” Eddie said.

“Well, you run a shop though. And it's a way to get customers. You don't have to put anything about _you_ per se, you could just put up details about the goods and services you offer. Some pictures of these gorgeous dresses you make would definitely draw some views. I could help you with getting advertisements as well...”

“That is moving a little fast,” said Eddie, pushing himself slightly away from the computer as though it was somehow offending him. 

“Oh, well, that's for later. Right now you can just play with it and look up whatever you want. Ninety percent of internet usage is for porn anyways,” grinned Waylon. The statistic was made up, but possibly close to accurate.

“Porn,” Eddie said, his voice caressing the word and a wry smile spreading across his features. “Interesting. I had no idea.”

“As much as I would love to help you get started on that search...” Oh God, why the fuck had Waylon said that? “I'm heading home early tonight. Lisa's got a night off from the hospital and I promised her a home cooked meal and a raunchy comedy tonight.”

Eddie gave a soft chuckle and directed his gaze at the blank computer screen. “When do you plan on opening your business?”

“Oh,” Waylon said, running a hand through his unruly blond locks. “Well. I ordered a store sign and some advertisements today. Putting out the word through the usual channels so I can start generating some business. You break it; I fix it kind of work. Though I'm happy to do just about any kind of computer jobs...”

“Is this your first time running a business?” Eddie asked politely.

“Oh. Yeah. Rather obvious?” grinned Waylon. “I used to work in the information technology department of the hospital, where Lisa works, but I decided to leave.”

“Ah,” said Eddie daring a sideways glance at Waylon. “Is that why she is an ex-fiance?”

“What? Oh, no,” said Waylon, feeling flush at the idea of Eddie questioning his relationship status. That was what he was doing, right? Or was it just friendly conversation? Waylon cursed his inexperience with men. “I did not like some of the things the hospital was doing. Breaking confidentiality to sell some patient information for quick cash on the side. Shady stuff. I was going to blow the whistle on the whole thing, but Lisa was afraid she would lose her job. She's a nurse manager in the maternity ward. Kind of a dream job of hers and hard to get.”

“Look at you. A little boy-scout,” grinned Eddie. Waylon couldn't tell if his tone was impressed or disgusted. He brushed it off instead.

“I really never was a boy-scout. I was never good with, you know, outside. Sunshine. Bugs,” Waylon was rambling but he couldn't help it. Eddie was looking him in the eye and smiling that charming smile that made his insides knot up. “And no, she's an ex-fiance because I realized I....well, we realized we... weren't compatible.” Eddie gave a brief nod at the vague information. “I don't like women.” The stark confession caused the tailor's dark eyebrows to shoot up on his forehead. “No, I like women. I mean, women are fine,” stuttered Waylon before finally giving a defeated sigh. “I'm gay,” shrugged Waylon.

A slow understanding bloomed on the tailor's handsome face. “Ah,” said Eddie. Had Waylon imagined that Eddie suddenly sat up a little straighter and looked slightly uncomfortable? Everything was new to Waylon and he did not know what to expect.

“Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for, darling,” said Eddie, and when Waylon finally dared to look back down at the man he was giving a smile that was anything but disgusted at the admission. He liked the way the tailor sounded when he called him 'darling.' Waylon knew Eddie had called customers the same name. Somehow it seemed different when he said it to him. 

“So, I need to join Lisa but, she works all weekend. And maybe you would like to grab some dinner...together,” Waylon said, feeling his breathing hitch in his throat. Shit. Would Eddie think he had asked him out? Had he asked Eddie out? Waylon had just asked Eddie out, right?

“Do you enjoy Japanese food?” Eddie asked, and Waylon gave a relieved sigh. 

Later that night, Waylon was sitting on the couch drinking a beer when Lisa sat down next to him and curled up snug against his body. They had seen the comedy a dozen times. They had seen it in the theater when they were engaged and sneaking kisses in the dark. Waylon enjoyed the movie, but that night he could astutely feel the weight of his ex-fiance against his body, and it weighed on his heart. 

After a couple of beers, Lisa looked up and gave a drunken grin. Waylon returned it. And then they were kissing. Waylon did not have the heart to reject his best friend. So they kissed, closed mouth and gentle at first, later opening into something more intimate, but still so familiar between them. 

Waylon knew with the right touch and a good fantasy firmly in his mind, he could give Lisa what she was drunkenly requesting. He had several times in the past months even while they were officially separated and his new status was known. It was just so hard to break the heart of the woman that he loved despite not being in love with her any longer.

If he had ever been in love with her. Lisa was such a great friend. They'd been in the computer club together. They went to prom together. They took each others' virginity in the front seat of a Z28 Camero—which is actually really uncomfortable and hard to accomplish. But from the time Waylon had felt his sexuality waking within his hormonal teenage frame, he had known something he was never sure how to embrace. He liked boys. It took facing an eternity with a woman and never having those urges filled to finally push him to admit what he'd always felt. Lisa had been his biggest cheerleader in coming out—even though she was the one with the most to lose. He owed her for her loyalty and friendship. But he did not owe her this.

Waylon quietly disentangled himself from his drunken friend and retreated to his private room. It had once been their “guest room” but now it was Waylon's room. He sat on that queen bed with the mismatched linens and old pillows thinking about Eddie Gluskin. The man had accepted to go out to dinner with him, but was it a date? Would Eddie think it was a date? Was the tailor even into men? Gay men were into fashion right, or was that a stereotype? Damn, why was everything so difficult. Waylon cursed himself for spending his adolescence and college years dating a woman instead of learning how to navigate the world of dating the gender he truly desired.

As it was, Waylon wasn't sure if he was going out with his neighbor as friends or potential lovers, and he definitely had no idea what to do with his desire to feel more of Eddie's sewing creations. At that time, Waylon did the only thing he knew to do with all those urges. He took care of himself alone in his room thinking about Eddie and silk...


	4. Overeager Attitude

Breakfast the next morning was awkward. “Is it that Eddie guy?”

“What? I hardly know the guy, he's just a neighbor.”

“Then who?”

“Lisa. You know I love you, but I am attracted to men. I don't have a boyfriend right now. Trust me. You'd be the first to know. But that doesn't mean in the meanwhile that I want to...I just don't want to lead you on,” Waylon finished lamely. Lisa was up early even though she hadn't just come home from work. The two shared an uncomfortable breakfast of cereal and coffee. “Maybe I should just sleep above the shop.”

“What? No, Way! Please don't. That place is weird. There's a smell, the neighbors are strange, there's a butcher next door for Christ's sake...”

“I don't see what that has to do with anything...”

“I like having you here. The lease is up in a few months. At least stay until then?” Lisa asked.

“Fine. But Lisa, we can't keep up any semblance of a physical relationship. Agreed?”

A silent nod where Lisa's eyes never looked up from her coffee was the response.

“And if I do find a...a man,” Waylon felt good saying it, though it had fallen out of his mouth feeling so foreign, “I will just bring him there, not here. And I will tell you about anything. You're my best friend, Lis.”

“Thanks, Way,” she said. The smile she gave was tremulous, but at least she was putting on a strong front. Waylon hated seeing her like this and hated more that it was because of him. But he had decided he had to live his life and not live for someone else. Not even someone as special and precious to him as Lisa. He gave her a brotherly kiss on the cheek before gathering up his stuff and heading in to the office. 

Waylon forced himself not to look through the bars and into Eddie's shop. He didn't want to be disturbed with visions of the guy. He had work to do. Waylon was making good headway until the door opened. For a moment, Waylon thought it may be his first customer until he remembered that he technically had not advertised anywhere and did not even have a sign out front. 

The man that entered took off a pair of sunglasses and slid them onto his head, somehow making his messy brown hair look better. He was good looking and looked around Waylon's age, mid-twenties. His jeans were dark, his shirt black, and his tan jacket left him looking very well put together. He walked directly to the desk where Waylon was sitting.

“Can I help you? I'm not really open for business yet, but I can...”

“You Waylon Park?”

“Yes?” How did all of these people seem to know his name already?

“Miles Upshur. Mind if I ask you a few questions?” The man was pulling out a camcorder and Waylon frowned when the blinking red light was forced in his face. 

“A few...wait, what is this about? Are you with the police? Do you have to film this?” Waylon asked.

Miles pulled some kind of badge out of his jacket and flashed it too quickly for Waylon to read. “Press. Formerly with the Post. I'm looking into Murkoff Chemical. You work for them now, right?”

“Uh, yeah, but I just help out with some tech for the tenants in the strip here. Nothing big,” said Waylon. He didn't trust this guy so he kept the information about his new credentials to himself. He was yet to even log into the Murkoff systems anyways. “Wait, formerly? So you're not even here for some story...”

“I'm here for the story, my man. Investigative journalist. So far, my gut has never been wrong. And my gut tells me something fucking stinks out there,” said Miles.

“Oh, that, it comes and goes, we think it's from the factory...”

“Yeah exactly. It fucking stinks and humans shouldn't have to deal with that shit. Murkoff may have paid off law enforcement, zoning, environmental protection and all the other agencies, but I'm not going to stand by while they pollute this area.”

Oh. He was after pollution. Hipsters were the new hippies.

“Well, I don't know anything about that. I smell it the same as you and that's all I know,” said Waylon.

“Do you know Richard Trager?” Miles asked. Waylon shook his head looking confused. “Frank Manera? Eddie Gluskin?”

“Eddie,” Waylon said immediately biting his tongue. “He's my neighbor.”

“They're all your neighbors, asshat. Didn't bother to walk the area before moving in?” Miles asked.

“I was just uh, needing a place. Cheap. Why are you asking about Eddie?” Waylon had to ask. The man seemed charming and polite, if not a little annoyed at his female clientele. 

“A bunch of right guilty bastards you have for neighbors, Park,” said Miles, looking at everything in the store while keeping the camera angled at Waylon's face. 

“Guilty? I don't understand. I thought you were investigating Murkoff?” Waylon asked.

“Look. Keep your eyes open man. Anything seems off, contact me,” Miles finally took the camera out of Waylon's face long enough to fish out a business card. “My e-mail's on there. Best way to get me.”

“Okay, but I have to admit, I am pretty confused about this entire thing and do not have any information regarding any...”

“Later, Park,” Miles said, not even waiting for Waylon to finish before walking outside the door and leaving it to close loudly.

Waylon sat thinking for several minutes after the journalist's departure. Some guy after a story about pollution asking about Eddie. It made no sense. And what did he mean Eddie was guilty? The thought that the gentleman next door that he had a future date with could be something sinister had all the hairs on Waylon's body standing on edge. He was still feeling the chills when the door opened and Eddie appeared, as though conjured from his thoughts, and he was not smiling.

“Did that reporter talk to you?” Eddie demanded, his usually melodic voice had transformed into a growl. Waylon was frozen for a moment unsure what to say to his neighbor when his face looked so damn...evil.

“Eddie, hi, yeah, he was just asking some stuff about Murkoff I told him I don't know anyth...”

“That...slimy fuck...”

“Whoa Eddie he was just, asking some questions. He's worried about the chemicals causing pollution I think,” Waylon said.

“Chemicals...” Eddie seemed to absorb the statement, his face slowly returning to a mask of calm. “Pollution, yes.” He smoothed back his black stripe of hair and offered a sheepish smile to Waylon. “Sorry, darling. That same...man was here a while back asking questions I found...uncomfortable. I suspected he was out to close down the shops.” Eddie's calm seemed to be completely back in place as he turned a charming smile back on Waylon. “I did have another reason for coming over. I had changed my mind about your earlier suggestion having to do with putting up a website space on the internet. Is there any way you could help me with that? I would be willing to pay for your services.”

“Oh, that wouldn't be so hard. I'm not really a design guy but I know where to go to outsource that. I wouldn't charge you for my portion of it, Eddie,” said Waylon, hoping that last part didn't come out too corny. He still wasn't sure if their dinner was between friends or something more. Now was not the time to chase the man away with his overeager attitude. “I'm not doing anything this afternoon. I could get everything rolling for you?”

“You really are too kind, Waylon.”

After eating the meager lunch he had packed himself, Waylon walked next door to make good on his promise to Eddie and noticed that the smell was much stronger that day. It was so bad, in fact, that Waylon had to cover his noise with his hand as he pushed his way into the tailor shop. 

“Hold still now...” came Eddie's voice from behind the curtain area. 

“Ow, you're hurting me...” came a feminine voice.

“Do try to hold still. A woman has to endure so much if she wants perfection.” 

“Ouch!” 

Waylon walked into the shop as he overheard the conversation. He walked directly to the dress form he had noticed the other day and found the white dress was sewn together properly and now different straps and lace were pinned for the next step. Eddie had been working on it, and it looked more lovely than ever.

“It's not pleasant I know...” The way Eddie's voice caressed the words as he spoke to the woman had Waylon's interest stirring.

“Uh, Eddie,” Waylon called out toward the curtain. “It's Waylon. Just here to work on the computer. Is it okay if I get started?”

“Of course, Waylon. I will be done with this...customer as soon as she stops fidgeting...”

Waylon walked over to the computer and found it on and unlocked. He would have to discuss basic computer security with Eddie. He opened up the internet and immediately the search history was visible. It looked like Eddie had taken Waylon up on his suggestion to use the internet for porn. But the kind of searches left Waylon feeling...odd.

Every search was some variation of looking for men wearing women's clothing, with a particular focus on wedding dresses. Waylon felt his heart start racing. He felt so interested in the beautiful clothing that Eddie created, and now he knew that Eddie had a desire to see men in women's clothing. And Waylon suspected he may have a desire to dress-up. His mouth had gone dry and his original task forgotten. 

One particular page had been visited several times. Waylon made sure the storeroom was still empty before clicking on the link. He wasn't prepared for how high the volume was when a video came on blaring through the computer speakers. Sloppy wet sounds broadcast through the room as an attractive man in a wedding dress and veil choked on a giant cock. Waylon had never clicked the exit button so quickly in his life. 

“Ouch! That is it,” came an exasperated cry from behind the curtain. Waylon looked up from the computer to see a beautiful blond woman in a giant puffy wedding gown emerge from the area. “My cousin said you were the best, but I cannot stand in this dress one second longer with you stabbing me with all these pins.” The bridezilla stomped up onto the dais and began to admire her dress from all the angles provided. “It looks fine to me! Just finish the alterations. The wedding is in two weeks!”

“Yes well we wouldn't be having all of these re-fittings if someone could stop putting on weight...” came Eddie's voice as he emerged, a measuring tape slung over his shoulder, and a dark expression over his face. His usual uniform of a vest, slacks, and bow-tie were more disheveled than usual. “Take it off, and get out of my shop.”

“I can't believe you are talking to me like this! I am paying you!”

“What part of the instructions were confusing, you crazy bitch.”

“Rude!” screamed the woman, turning to walk right out of the shop still wearing the complicated wedding dress, pins and all. She had to struggle slightly to get the wide, puffy train out of the narrow shop door.

Waylon quickly turned his eyes back to the keyboard not sure if he should have seen that, and definitely not sure if he should comment to his friend.

“Filthy sluts. The only thing I don't like about this business are the customers...” Eddie said. Waylon gave an uncomfortable laugh.

“Are you okay Eddie? You seem tense...”

Eddie gave an exaggerated inhale, a dark frown on his otherwise handsome face. “Do not worry. I won't allow that whore to bring down my day. She'll be back, anyways.”

And Eddie was right. As Waylon got all the preliminary work in place for a Gluskin's Tailoring and Alterations website, the bride walked back in with her dress still in place and her eyes puffy from crying. Eddie was not the least bit apologetic as he followed her back into the fitting area and finished up the service. After the woman had departed with a scowl on her pretty face, Eddie emerged and walked over to where Waylon was clicking away at the keys. 

“How did you know?” Waylon asked, curiously. Eddie hummed in response, eyebrows raising. “The woman. How did you know she would come back?”

“She left her clothing, darling,” grinned Eddie. “You didn't think she arrived her in that disgusting rag of a dress, did you?” Waylon laughed at his own naivety.

“I guess I don't know much about weddings. I never got around to having one,” said Waylon.

“Hmm. Me neither. Still looking for the right girl,” said Eddie before returning to his ledger where he began scribbling away notes and figures. Waylon closed his eyes to force down the painful disappointment that rose in his chest at those words. Eddie was looking for a girl. Their dinner was not a date. His crush on his next door neighbor would need to end. But then what about those searches on Eddie's browser history?

“Do you have any photography equipment?” Waylon asked. Eddie looked up from his ledger with a flat stare. 

“No. I do not like being photographed. Why would you ask?”

“Oh, I just thought some photographs of your original designs would be a good addition to the website. I have some empty space up above my shop since I'm not living there. We could use it to set up a kind of photo shoot. Just for the dresses.”

“Waylon. I knew it the moment I saw you. There's something special about you. Having you move in to the shop next door has been such a blessing,” Eddie said, smiling such a charming smile that Waylon had to remind himself to breathe.


	5. Good Burn

Everything was coming together for the shop and Waylon even began to get the occasional call on his business line. Some of them weren't even wrong numbers. The sign came in and Eddie helped him to hang it up above the door. It was rather large and in a few pieces. Finally, the shop looked more like a legitimate business and Waylon felt like he had a future in the Mount Massive Shopping Complex.

Waylon also set up his account with Murkoff. True to their word, they had granted him very limited access and an e-mail account to allow tenants to message him with issues regarding the technology and wiring present within the small complex. Waylon remembered the reporter's warning and was tempted to test how far he could push the access he was granted, but decided that was an adventure for another day. After his experience at the hospital, Waylon wasn't sure he wanted to go down that road again. Once you began unraveling secrets, you were faced with the choice of exposing them and therefore exposing yourself, or walking away knowing you stood by helpless as others suffered. 

After his business cards came in, Waylon made a quick tour of the area to let the tenants know who to contact if they had any issues. Waylon's shop was first and closest to the road and the front gates, always left open. Eddie's shop was next, and Waylon did wander in to drop his friend a business card. Any excuse to talk to Eddie. Next was the Chiropractor, Doctor Trager. The man seemed like more of a quack chiropractor than anyone with real medical expertise on spinal alignment. A butcher's shop was located next door and the man running it, Frank, seemed dirtier than what you'd want in a butcher. The raw meat hanging in the back of the counter and all of the sharp knives left an unsettled feeling in Waylon's stomach. There were a few other empty areas with “FOR LEASE” signs in the window, and then there was the chapel closest to the chemical company's guarded entrance.

The chapel was really just a couple of regular shops renovated to become one strip-mall Jesus boutique. Waylon had noticed cars parked there some evenings, and fliers were up announcing meetings for many different support groups. The man running it called himself Father Martin and he seemed to be missing most of the screws that hold sanity together. Then again, Waylon was not a religious man and most people that held so fervently to any religion made him feel uneasy. 

Overall, the complex was full of strange characters. It seemed unlikely than any of the shops used enough technology to keep Waylon busy at all. If anything, he wasn't sure the butcher even had a computer – much like Eddie when they had first met. 

Waylon ran into the reporter again one afternoon. Miles stood scribbling notes in a tiny notebook with his camera trained on the Murkoff building. His outfit that day was no less put together than the first time Waylon had met him, and his brown hair was still as charmingly mussed. He struck a nice figure in a brown jacket.

“Waylon Park,” Miles said as a way of greeting. “Smell anything interesting lately?”

“Excuse me?” Waylon had responded.

“Strange smells?”

“The butcher shop smells pretty strange...”

“No, chemical smells. Something from Murkoff. Experience any headaches? Dizzy spells? Sexual impotence?” Miles asked, the camera now trained on Waylon.

“No, would you...get that out of my face,” frowned Waylon.

“Bad habit. Hey you still have my e-mail right? You find anything strange you'll let me know, right? This place becomes a chemical waste dump you're going to be wishing you'd helped me more. I doubt you'll be getting back your security deposit.”

“If I see any suspicious green glowing fumes I will give you a call...”

“Oh, glowing fumes are the least of your worries, tech guy. You need to watch your neighbors. Stay on your guard. Something not right about a bunch of convicts being brought together, no background checks, no questions asked, putting them here around all this classified chemical research.”

“I've met some of these people. Strange, yeah. Dangerous? I don't think so,” said Waylon.

“Yeah I forgot, you're friends with the big guy right? Gluskin? Three women in the hospital, one dead, but a few years of therapy and incarceration and he's right as rain now, right? People really can change, right Park?” Miles slipped the notepad into his jacket and flipped the camcorder shut. He stalked out of the shopping complex looking every which way as though expecting an ambush. And Miles said the people that lived here were weird. The reporter was the biggest lunatic Waylon had met since moving here.

Still. Waylon couldn't ignore the man's warning. Eddie was a murderer? Could that be true? He thought back to the searches his friend had done on his computer the first day he had owned it. Eddie had been searching for himself. Waylon decided to perform some similar searches with his own internet skills. There was surprisingly little on the internet, which seemed strange if he had truly been a murderer. Where was Miles getting this information? Or maybe the reporter was just inventing stories.

The day of the dinner finally arrived, and Waylon had gone back to his apartment to shower, shave, and pick out a great outfit. His sandy blond hair wouldn't behave. He nicked himself while shaving. And he spilled water on the crotch of his best khaki pants. He would have to wear the navy slacks that were slightly too short. He hoped dark socks would hide the issues. He changed shirts three times, finally setting on a white button-down with navy stripes. Before heading out, he sought Lisa's approval.

“I thought you said this wasn't a date?” she asked suspiciously as Waylon spun in a circle, showing off the outfit.

“It's not. I mean, it's dinner with a friend who is male who likes women so I do not think this counts as a date,” said Waylon.

“Then why are you fussing so much? Come here, let me put some product in your hair,” Lisa said, leading him back into the bathroom they used to share. She rubbed product between her hands before messing up Waylon's hair as she used to do when they were going somewhere fancy together. “Hmm, where's that cologne I bought you for Christmas last year?” Under Lisa's guidance, Waylon soon looked passable and was out the door with his ex-fiance's stamp of approval.

“You'll be safe right? If anything happens?” she asked at the door.

Waylon stuttered in surprise. “Uh, I'm not even sure it's a date, don't you think you are jumping to some...”

“Just be safe,” she emphasized. “And tell me everything when I get home in the morning. If anything goes bad, page me at the hospital. I mean it, Way.”

“Thanks, Lis.”

When Waylon got to the tailor shop he knocked on the glass door and attempted to peer through the iron bars, but the shop's interior was pitch black. Instead he stood out under the dim, flickering street lights of he shopping complex rocking on his heels feeling anxious. He was beginning to wonder if he should knock again or if maybe Eddie had forgotten when the door finally opened with the attractive tinkling of a bell.

Waylon turned and took in the sight of Eddie Gluskin. He was always dressed nice for work at his shop but that evening he was wearing a shirt and vest that fit so perfectly Waylon could clearly imagine the muscles outlined beneath. His pants matched and his hair was slicked back and gleaming in the lamp light. But the best part was the way his blue eyes roamed up and down Waylon's own figure as he sat waiting to meet him. There was something there that made Waylon's pulse quicken. Desire? Oh shit, maybe it was a date.

“Uh, I looked up directions to the place you mentioned,” Waylon said, feeling his cheeks blushing furiously under the larger man's scrutiny. 

“Perfect. We have reservations under Gluskin,” said Eddie, giving his most charming smile. He walked to the passenger's side and let himself into the car. Waylon thanked God that he hadn't tried to open Eddie's door which had been his first instinct. Waylon had enjoyed pampering Lisa when they dated, but this might not be a date. 

The restaurant was located near the shopping center and the sign was in kanji—illegible to Waylon. When Eddie had mentioned Japanese cuisine, Waylon had envisioned some family style hibachi restaurant or a sushi shop where you sat on the floor. This restaurant was neither of those things. The atmosphere was dark and personal. The menu was steak and sides cooked on a hibachi but not as part of a show, just as part of the process. Eddie ordered sake for the table, though he drank water, and Waylon found he wasn't the biggest fan of the rice wine.

The food was amazing. Nothing Waylon had ever experienced before. And the menu had no price points which told Waylon he was in for a huge shock when the check arrived. The dim light of the restaurant made for a very personal setting. In the beginning, Waylon had felt awkward and sweaty but as the night progressed he found it liberating. He could look at Eddie in the shadows cast by the dim lighting without having to worry about seeming too creepy. He enjoyed looking at the man. His chiseled features, muscular form behind his fine clothing, and those striking blue eyes. 

And Waylon could not be sure that his neighbor wasn't checking him out as well. The lighting was dim and possibly he was simply gazing in his direction while sipping his glass or chewing his food. Waylon wouldn't want to jump to any conclusions.

Talking to Eddie was easy. He talked about his work, his favorite classic television shows, and the shop he had before relocating to their small, dumpy shopping complex on the bad side of town. 

“What made you relocate?” Waylon asked, and the question prompted a half-lidded scowl from his companion. 

“I wish I had the answer to that, darling,” Eddie said, taking a long sip from his water. “One day I had an offer to move into Mount Massive. I declined based on the dismal location and pitiful available amenities. I had a great shop and no reason to move. Within a few weeks, my current landlord had a change of heart. Something about a new background check. I had all of two weeks to pack my things and move out. A few calls around the area revealed no one else was interested in my business, as lucrative as it was. And then I ended up here, living and working in this sorry excuse of a strip-mall.”

“New background check?” Waylon asked.

“Mmm,” was Eddie's response, setting his glass back down and giving a small sigh. “I feel I should be open with you and let you know I went through some rather...unpleasant past experiences. I know that disgusting reporter was running around trying to use my record against me in some way.” Eddie's fingertips flew to massage his temples. “A man may have a past, do his time, and receive his treatment but some still feel it is not enough.”

Waylon felt cold. Shit. Miles was right? Eddie was a killer?

“The reporter did mention some things to me...” Waylon started, and was startled to silence when those blue eyes looked up at him without Eddie raising his head. 

“What did he tell you.” It wasn't a question. It was a command.

“Oh uh, Miles said that you, well, he called everyone in the complex criminals. He said you had hurt some people and killed a woman,” said Waylon. He did not want to upset Eddie further, but he also did not want to lie to his friend. If the reporter was spreading lies, Eddie had a right to know.

Eddie sat up straighter in his chair and kept his electric blue eyes trained on the mostly empty plate in front of him. “In my youth, I had some unhealthy relationships with women. I had a very bad upbringing. I don't say that to shift blame. Just as some insight. Unfortunately, a woman lost her life and others were hurt.” Eddie paused there to take a deep breath. “I did my time and received treatment. It's been over a decade since my release, and I have not physically hurt any person since then. A model parolee. I wish only to move on with my life, learning from those mistakes—not forgetting that they happened.”

Waylon had no idea what to say. The first man he developed a crush on, and it's a man with a dark criminal past. And yet all he could think in that moment as he watched Eddie's stoic face was...Poor Eddie. Something had hurt him so badly that he had hurt others. People like Miles and his old landlord that continue to keep a man down after paying their dues to society are part of the problem. Does society really want to rehabilitate those that step outside the law—or simply punish them and make sure every step after their release is littered with roadblocks? Waylon sat quiet and still as he considered everything his friend had said.

“The issues occurred when I was eighteen and nineteen, respectively,” Eddie continued, his tone quiet and serious. “It feels like a lifetime ago. I understand if you wish to leave separately or if you feel different now,” Eddie said.

“No,” Waylon said, probably a little too quickly. Eddie raised an eyebrow at Waylon's shy smile and blush. “No I um, don't feel differently. About you. And I don't want to leave.”

Eddie smiled and it wasn't the smile of a murderer. Waylon wished he could get more details about what these crimes could have been, but it was a big enough step that his friend had told him. The time for deeper questions was later when they were closer. If they got closer at all. At the mere idea of being close to Eddie, Waylon reached out to where Eddie's hand rest on the table. He gave what he hoped was a comforting, friendly squeeze. The heat seemed to burn him where their skin connected. It was a good burn. 

The night ended with Waylon driving Eddie back to his place. He was still trying to decide if this had been a date. They had dressed up, eaten a fine dinner, shared intimate conversation, and then Eddie had paid for everything to Waylon's shock. Things were looking more and more date-like and Waylon found his hands sweating as he stepped out of the car and walked Eddie to his door. 

“I, uh, thanks again for paying, I...owe you one,” Waylon offered, cursing himself for being so goddamn awkward. “Oh, one of Lisa's friends has some camera equipment. Maybe we could take those pictures for the website some night next week?”

Eddie stopped at his door and turned to face Waylon, keys still in hand. He gave a genuine smile that lit up his handsome face. “I would like that, Waylon.”

“Me too,” Waylon breathed. His chest felt tight; his throat felt dry. “Well, I should...”

Eddie closed the space between them with one step of his long legs. He had to crane his neck down slightly in order to press his lips against the smaller man's. Waylon's eyes flew open as he stared at the back of Eddie's eyelids. Kissing. Eddie was kissing him. It was his first kiss from another man since coming out. Or ever. Waylon practically threw his arms around Eddie's neck, his body molding against the taller man's as they continued to gently work their lips against one another. Eddie's body was firm yet yielding to his touch. He was warm and smelled like cologne and man. Waylon felt unsteady.

Eddie must have felt similarly because the man grabbed Waylon's shoulders and backed him up until Waylon's back connected with the windowed storefront of the tailor's shop. Then they were kissing anew with mouths opening and tongues making their first shy caresses. So many times Waylon had kissed Lisa, and none of them had affected him like this. Eddie pressed his body into the glass with his own and Waylon knew Eddie must have felt the hardness of Waylon's arousal straining against his slacks. 

Eddie definitely had. Not a moment later, the tailor snaked a hand between their bodies and palmed his friend's erection through the thin material. Waylon moaned into the kiss and Eddie took the opportunity to swallow the sound whole. Waylon's fingers were stroking Eddie's neck, encouraging him as they continued to kiss. He tentatively pressed his hips forward, grinding against Eddie's hand and body. He earned a broken sigh that set his blood to boiling. His hand started on a desperate search to find out if Eddie was equally aroused when suddenly...

“Break it up, hey hey,” came a loud, gruff voice from behind the men. Waylon immediately jumped but Eddie took a longer time. The tailor slowly turned around and leveled a death-glare at the interloper. It was a very large man wearing some kind of uniform. “I'm going to have to ask you gentleman to take this somewhere else.”

“Oh uh, sorry Officer...” wait, should Waylon be calling a rent-a-cop 'officer'? Waylon decided it was better to be overly polite than risk upsetting some power-hungry cop-wannabe. Waylon read off of his name tag. “Officer Walker? Sorry to have alarmed you. We uh, well, these are our shops, and...”

“That may be,” said the bulging man, “but the sidewalk outside is still Murkoff property, and I will have to ask you two to take this somewhere else.”

“Absolutely,” Waylon said, his erection quickly flagging from the embarrassment. “I should be getting home as it were...”

“Of course,” Eddie said, adjusting his vest and turning a smile back on his friend. His blue eyes were still dilated with something akin to lust. “Thanks for the amazing evening, darling.”

“Yes, uh,” Waylon considered leaning in for another quick kiss, but the large rent-a-cop was still standing there mouth-breathing. “Sleep well, Eddie.”

Waylon scrambled into his Volkswagen and drove home barely able to contain his enthusiasm. A date. It had been a date. And it was a good date because it had ended in a kiss. Eddie had kissed him. Oh God, how would Waylon ever be able to sleep?


	6. Photo-Shoot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is smut in this chapter, and it really earns that E rating. You've been warned.

“So it _was_ a date?? How do you know?” Lisa was still wearing her nursing scrubs at the breakfast table. Her eyes were lined with deep circles from the night shift, but she put on a tired smile for Waylon.

“Well, he paid for the dinner...we both dressed up?”

“Did you guys do anything _else_ that people do when dating?” Lisa asked suggestively taking a large bite of her cereal.

“Uh...” Waylon had promised to tell Lisa everything, but deep down he didn't feel she was ready. He decided to lie to spare her feelings. “No. Come on. It was a first date.”

“No kissing?”

“No,” Waylon lied with a flat stare at his ex-fiance. “Nothing like that.” He flushed remembered kissing Eddie. Hopefully, Lisa would mistake it for being shy about the question.

“So gay first dates are as boring as straight first dates?” she teased.

“It would appear so,” Waylon said. 

He drove over to the shop early that day, a bundle of nerves writhing in his stomach. He couldn't get thoughts of Eddie out of his mind. His warmth, hit taste, his smell. Waylon wanted more. And yet he was petrified with fear at their first discussion post date. Seeing a black Mercedes outside of his shop when he arrived did nothing to assuage those nerves.

“Mr. Park,” said Jeremy Blaire in his usual black suit/black tie. “I hope you're settling in alright. That's a lie. I don't give a shit. Were you able to access your account with the company?”

“Yes, sir,” Waylon said, going to unlock the door of his shop. He'd gone with the modest title “Park's Computer Repair and Used Parts Depot.” The sign looked slightly crowded. Waylon was no good with names. Lisa had only rolled her eyes. Jeremy Blaire followed him into the shop and looked around, unimpressed.

“You obviously don't have anything to do today Park, but I do. I came to make your day,” said Jeremy reaching into his suit and pulling out a sealed yellow envelope. “Consulting contract. Generous terms. It's work that should be easy for someone with your experience. I'll be brief. We have been experiencing some security anomalies. We need a new software engineer that we can trust outside of our usual team, in case one of them is the culprit. You're qualified and already passed the background check. Everything else is detailed in the folder. I just need you to sign your non-disclosure agreement and your clearance will be upgraded by the end of the day. A guy like you with all this free time on your hands should have it done before the weekend.” There was hardly a pause for air during his speech. Waylon was left staring with his jaw slightly dropped.

The envelope was pressed into his hands while Jeremy stood looking bored. Waylon quickly opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of papers. Murkoff's logo was all over the pages. The top page was the NDA in question. “Oh uh, can I read this over before I agree?”

“I have to have that agreement signed before I can even entertain more questions. Sign it so I can get out of this...shop seems generous,” Jeremy Blaire kept his arms tucked to his side as though afraid of brushing against any of the parts and computers littering the shop's cheap shelving. 

“Uhh, okay then. I can sign that and work out the rest after I read...”

“Right, hurry,” barked Blaire.

Waylon began to pat around at his pockets. Next he looked over at the desk seeing several computers he was in the middle of scrapping...still no writing utensils.

“Do you need a pen, Park?” Jeremy remarked with a disgusted look on his face. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a heavy fountain pen personalized with his initials. Waylon used it to sign the paper without reading. “Get it together, Park,” said Blaire as he walked out the door, pocketing the pen and the signed document before disappearing into the backseat of his chauffeured Mercedes. 

“Asshole,” muttered Waylon.

He'd all but forgotten about his anxiety over Eddie as he poured over the documents. It read like legalese at its worst. The actual work seemed easy enough. Attempt to penetrate Murkoff's security and patch up any holes that are found. Everything else left him so confused he was unsure what exactly Murkoff was trying to protect. Chemical formulas? Subject information? Employee confidentiality agreements? Whatever it was, Blaire and his kind seemed to think they were in danger of some sort of terror attack. Who would care about some chemical company at the end of a run down strip-mall?

The mystery and the paperwork kept him working through lunch. Waylon was so engrossed he did not hear the door open and shut. The small bell he had set on the counter clanging inches from his face finally snapped him out of his trance. 

Eddie. He looked taller looming over Waylon where he sat perched on a stool in front of his main computer. Dark hair slicked back and blue eyes staring down at Waylon with an unreadable expression. 

“Hi,” squeaked Waylon, a truckload of feelings hitting him all at once. 

“Busy day at the office?” Eddie asked with a small grin that immediately piqued Waylon's interest in the worst way. Or, best way?

“Yeah, uh, sorry. I got some consulting work on the side, I was just...reviewing...It's not important,” Waylon said, looking up at his neighbor. A smile slowly spread across his face. “How are you today?”

“Well, thank you for asking,” Eddie smiled.

“About last night...”

“I had a wonderful time. I am glad you initiated the dinner. I actually came by to find out if you were free Friday evening for the photography session we had discussed last night.”

“Sure. I can uh, bring some food?”

Eddie considered that for a moment. “Nothing that could stain the garments.”

“I'll see what I can do,” Waylon promised.

A strange thing happened around the shop in the following days: Waylon started to get customers. Phone calls. Walk-ins. Clueless teens and hard of hearing elderly. It was a start. He also went next door to help Eddie finalize his new web presence. He forced himself to resist checking the search history of his friend. He was having a hard enough time at night thinking about his handsome friend jerking off to that video of the bridal blowjob. Waylon had enough in the spank bank for a while. And he was making an honest effort not to think of his friend that way. Half an effort at least.

The work for Murkoff was simple, which somehow made Waylon feel uneasy. Why all the weird disclosures for such a simple task? And then the first check came in and Waylon found it a little easier to relax about the whole thing.

Lisa was in rare form that week. She bought champagne to celebrate Waylon's first week with actual customers and a paycheck. He let her know about his meeting on Friday. Lisa's friend was providing the camera equipment, after all.

“A photo-shoot, that actually sounds fun! Do you think he would mind if I tag along?” she asked, her blue eyes wide with hope. 

“Uh, I, err...” Waylon struggled to think of a reason why she couldn't attend. “I'm not sure if Eddie...”

“What, don't want me hanging out with your boyfriend?” Lisa's tone was playful, but there was something else behind the words. If she was going to stay in his life as a friend, that meant accepting his new lifestyle and meeting people Waylon may date.

“Well, that couldn't hurt. I'm not much of a photographer anyways...” Waylon admitted.

“Oh yay! This is going to be so fun. I'll bring casserole!” Lisa was beaming.

“Okay, but nothing that stains...”

The next day Waylon walked over to Eddie's shop and found him carefully draping plastic wrap over several dresses in the same blue color. Bridesmaid dresses, perhaps?

“Eddie,” Waylon said, greeting his friend. The week had been comfortable with their growing friendship, but neither mentioned the kiss. 

“Morning, Waylon,” Eddie said with his most charming smile. 

“Um, so about tonight...” Waylon started immediately.

“Is everything alright?” Eddie asked, a worried frown immediately finding his face.

“Oh no, everything is fine. But just. Lisa invited herself. She's bringing dinner and the camera equipment. I'm sorry if you wanted us to be alone.” Waylon said.

“Another set of eyes could be a valuable asset,” Eddie nodded. “Prudent. I look forward to seeing you tonight. Do you mind if I bring over some of the garments early?”

“Of course, Eddie,” smiled Waylon.

Waylon finished up some projects and called customers about jobs while Eddie carried in three armfuls of dresses followed by a couple of dress forms and even a mirror. He didn't struggle with the weight of anything and navigated the stairs with grace and ease. Waylon was slightly disappointed at how easily the man had acquiesced to Lisa's intrusion. Had Eddie wanted them to be alone at all? Maybe he regretted the kiss the other evening. After business hours, Waylon decided to confront Eddie before Lisa arrived. 

He caught Eddie as he was locking up his own store and heading back toward Waylon's. 

“Look, Eddie,” Waylon said, swallowing hard to keep his heart from rising into his throat. “About last week. I feel weird that we never talked about what happened. I guess I just needed to know,” Waylon paused, looking up at Eddie's bright blue eyes. He almost lost his nerve and dropped the subject. “When we kissed it meant something to me. But I don't know what it meant to you.”

Eddie reached out a large hand to gently caress Waylon's scruffy cheek. He held the eye contact as he did, and Waylon sighed and leaned into the small contact. 

“It meant something to me too,” Eddie said, his voice barely a whisper. He started to lean closer to Waylon when an approaching car stopped his progress. Eddie dropped his hand and straightened his shoulders. Lisa's black Honda parked right in front of them in the parking lot. 

“Hi boys!” called out Lisa. “Help me with this shit, Way.”

Waylon shrugged and gave a sheepish grin before rushing to Lisa's side. There was a large bag of camera equipment, a covered casserole dish, and a case of beer to bring into the shop. The three made their way up the stairs in the back of the store and into the upstairs apartment that was empty storage for the moment. When the door opened, everyone paused—except for Eddie.

Inside, the dress forms had been set up near the windows and on them were two of the most beautiful dresses Waylon had ever seen in his life. The fabric was beautiful, the intricate beading flawless, and the cut and style of the dresses managed to be classic yet modern. Lisa gave out a high pitched girlish squeal that made Eddie flinch. He was smiling patiently as though uninterested in hearing praise. And Lisa heaped it on.

She had to rush since the afternoon light was fading and she insisted natural light would make for the best photographs. The men helped her switching out dresses, moving them into position, and fluffing the skirts. Eddie was very particular about how the gowns were displayed, turned, and draped. Lisa may have been the photographer, but Eddie was directing the shoot. 

Waylon sat watching Lisa finish up with one particularly fancy dress while he held another in his hands. Without realizing it, he absentmindedly brought a piece of the silk fabric up to his cheek and gently rubbed it against his skin. He sighed happily at the feeling...and noticed Eddie watching him out of the corner of his eye. Waylon quickly pulled the fabric away from his face and blushed. What was wrong with him?

The light soon disappeared, but Lisa had managed to photograph over a dozen dresses. The group decided it was a good start. Before she put the camera away for good, Lisa had playfully snapped a couple of pictures of Eddie. “Maybe some pictures of the master craftsman himself?”

Eddie's face quickly took on a dark, twisted quality that caught Waylon's breath. “Uh, Lisa, Eddie doesn't like to be photographed,” said Waylon.

Lisa quickly apologized, though she gave Waylon a look he knew well. _Are you fucking kidding me?_ And then that classic eye roll which could only mean _whatever_. 

The casserole was one of Waylon's favorites that Lisa made: chicken and rice. Despite being a creamy white color, Waylon still felt like it would stain if it came into any contact with the clothing. They ate their food on paper plates with plastic utensils huddled on the far side of the room away from the dresses. 

Eddie easily charmed Lisa the same way he had always charmed Waylon. Had he doubted Eddie's ability to make his ex-fiance feel welcome? Waylon wasn't sure. He caught himself drifting off several times, watching Eddie talk and imagining those lips doing something much different. Eddie seemed to read his thoughts and gave a wicked grin in Waylon's direction that made him blush and avert his stare. 

Lisa was very interested in weddings, dress making, and clothing design. All of Eddie's specialties. The two chatted and laughed like old friends, and Waylon felt proud of his new potential boyfriend. If he passed the Lisa test, he would pass any test. The beer could have also been helping as well. Eddie abstained from drinking, but Waylon and Lisa had enough to make their cheeks pink without poorly influencing their driving. They stayed up talking until it was growing very late.

“Sorry, sometimes I don't realize how late it's getting. Too accustomed to the night shift, I guess. I should probably be heading back to the apartment. We got a lot accomplished today though. Are you happy with it?” Lisa asked Eddie.

“Absolutely. I cannot thank you enough for your assistance, Miss James,” Eddie said, giving a slight bow of his head.

“Call me Lisa,” she said, smiling that dazzling smile of hers and fluffing up her brown hair. “You coming, Way?”

“I'll be right behind you. I'm going to stay back just to help Eddie move some dresses back before I head home,” said Waylon. He had been feeling rather sleepy, but with the sudden realization that he would be alone with Eddie at last, he managed to perk up.

“Alright, see you home soon then!” Lisa smiled.

The two men helped Lisa with the equipment and dishes she had brought. She left the extra beer, which made Waylon chuckle. He put it in the tiny fridge he kept behind the desk in his store. Waylon walked back up the stairs and found Eddie carefully handling some of his gowns. He stopped and looked up when Waylon entered the empty apartment, smiling in a way that made Waylon's breathing hitch. 

“I regret, I did not get to show you my current favorite piece,” Eddie said, unzipping one of the dress covers. Waylon was suddenly confused, walking closer with a small frown on his face.

“If it was a favorite you should have photographed it first,” Waylon said, watching as Eddie pulled out a familiar garment. It was the white satin dress Waylon had noticed before in the shop. The one that had not fit the dress form very well, but had still drawn Waylon in with its fine fabric, cut, and careful decor. 

“I noticed that one in your store,” breathed Waylon. “I think it's gorgeous.”

“Not as gorgeous as the person I intended to wear it,” Eddie said. It was a strange statement that left Waylon confused. Was the woman this was sewn for some kind of love interest for Eddie? But hadn't he said that their kiss meant something?

Eddie held up the dress and walked slowly closer to Waylon. He held up the garment, placing it in front of Waylon's chest and examined with a critical eye. “Yes, I think it should be just about right.”

Waylon's blood froze. All he managed was some unintelligible dull sound that made Eddie chuckle. The tailor carefully brought up the satin fabric of the skirt and held it in his hand as he stroked it gently across Waylon's cheek. The hissing inhale was automatic and it made Eddie's smile even wider. 

“You...made this for...me?” Waylon asked

Eddie gave a smirk and nodded. Waylon stood still as Eddie slowly teased the satin fabric down his neck and back up to ghost over Waylon's lips like a kind of fluttering kiss. Waylon licked his lips when Eddie finally dropped the fabric to drape back down as a skirt. “I did, darling. The moment I saw you I knew I had to dress you in something fine. You have incredible bone structure, Waylon.”

Waylon was new to dating men, but he really wasn't sure bone structure was something people complimented. He wasn't sure if he felt more uncomfortable or turned on. The growing bulge in his slacks hinted toward the latter. “I don't know what to say, Eddie. Thank you?”

“You could thank me by trying it on.”

Waylon gave a little laugh. Had he had more to drink than he realized? Oh wait. “You're serious?” he asked, his face falling. Eddie just gave a slow, meaningful nod. 

“Um...” Hadn't he been fantasizing about this since the first time he saw that dress? Where was the harm in trying on one dress? Sure it was strange for a man to want to dress up in a fancy dress, but if Eddie was encouraging it? And Waylon _did_ want to please Eddie... “Okay.”

Eddie's smile was wider than Waylon had ever seen as he took the dress from his hands. “Alright. I will try it on. But if it doesn't fit, I am not coming out of that bathroom.”

“That seems fair,” nodded Eddie, still smiling like a child on Christmas. 

Waylon took the dress into the bathroom that adjoined to the upstairs apartment. There was another downstairs which was set up for use by Waylon and customers, but this bathroom was completely bare with white tiles, a modest shower/bath combo, and rusted fixtures. Waylon stripped out of his clothes and folded them neatly on the counter by the sink. He debated about removing his boxers. Ultimately, he decided they could affect the lay of the dress, and opted to remove them.

The dress slid on like some kind of dream that had a stuttering exhale leaving Waylon's lips. The garment was satin and the layer closest to the skin was creamy and smooth. The fabric made soft whispers as it fell into place after Waylon slipped it over his head. There were small sleeves that fell slightly off his shoulders and the bodice portion fit snug after he managed to find the zipper on the side. Ultimately, the garment fit him perfectly, which was a surprise. Looking into the mirror was an even bigger surprise. 

Waylon was not a very built man, but he definitely had a man's musculature, and the dress did nothing to hide that. The sleeves gripped his upper arm almost making his biceps look larger than they actually were. The cut of the dress made his slender frame appear more shapely, almost feminine. Waylon had always been a small guy so he wasn't surprised that he looked a little girly in a cinched waist. Then again, Waylon had not done a great job of shaving that morning so his short, disheveled, sandy blond hair and stubbled chin made it perfectly clear he was a man. 

Damn. What was he doing? Waylon couldn't go outside of the bathroom dressed like that. His heart began to race and nearly jumped out of his chest when he heard a quiet knock at the door. 

“Do you need any help in there, darling?”

“Uhhh,” Shit. Waylon needed a lot of help. Professional help. Why was he wearing a fancy gown? Why was his erection tenting the skirt? Oh God... “No, everything's fine,” Waylon said to the closed door. Everything wasn't fine.

“You women, always taking forever to get ready...” chuckled Eddie outside the bathroom door. Was Eddie calling Waylon a woman to insult him? Did he mean it as a joke? Somehow Waylon managed to feel two hundred percent more self conscious. Oh well. If Eddie was looking to get a laugh, let him get his laughs in. Waylon had been the butt of jokes in high school and college enough to not let it bother him. He steeled himself, took a deep breath, and slowly opened the bathroom door. 

Eddie wasn't laughing. He reached out a hand and gently took Waylon's, leading him deeper into the mostly empty room. Eddie led him to where they had set up a standing mirror as part of the props for the photo shoots to help show the front and back of the dress simultaneously. Eddie adjusted the mirror until it clearly showed Waylon standing there in the gorgeous dress with Eddie looming close behind. 

“You look beautiful, darling,” Eddie cooed in Waylon's ear, causing him to bite back a moan. “Better than I could have imagined.” The tailor leaned in and paused with his lips inches away from the skin of Waylon's exposed neck. “Do you like it, darling?”

“Yes...” was Waylon's breathy reply. God help him. Waylon liked it. And the way Eddie was looking at him in that moment, blue eyes blooming with lust, made Waylon like it even more.

Eddie's lips kissed Waylon's neck so softly, Waylon thought he had imagined it. Soon, those lips were kissing a hot trail down the side of his throat and Waylon had to tilt his head to the side. Eddie's tongue swirled out over the skin, feeling his pulse in his neck, tasting his flesh. Waylon's hand flew up of its own accord and gripped the back of Eddie's head, trying to hold him in place.

Eddie's hands started to move, lightly caressing over the dress on Waylon's body. He gripped firmly at his waist accentuated by the gown and groped his hands over Waylon's masculine chest. Soon his hand gripped Waylon's chin and Eddie was devouring his mouth. 

The kiss outside of the shop had been exciting and new, but this was steamy and desperate. Waylon did not have time to question whether he was ready for sexual activity with another man. Eddie's actions conveyed that it was going to happen. Soon. Their tongues writhed against one another. Eddie used his height advantage to tilt Waylon's head back as their kiss deepened. When Eddie finally pulled away, Waylon felt a rivulet of their combined spit start to drip away from the corner of his mouth. His tongue darted out quickly to catch the droplet, causing Eddie to moan loudly against his cheek. 

“I made this dress just for you darling,” came a rough whisper against Waylon's ear. 

“It's...” he had to pause to pant and catch his breath, “too nice for me.” Also, Waylon was not a girl. 

“You've been so helpful to me. And I know you're about to earn it...” Eddie's lips captured any response Waylon had wanted to give and a large hand pulled one of the shoulder straps further down before sliding under the neckline and palming the manly chest there. Eddie's fingers were searching as his tongue forced Waylon's mouth open to submit to his ravenous hunger. When Eddie finally found a small nipple he twisted it between his fingers causing Waylon to jump slightly in surprise. Nipples weren't usually one of his most sensitive areas, but something about the man's touch set them on fire that night. 

Waylon's head was spinning when Eddie pulled away and sat down in the only rolling swivel computer chair they had brought up to assist with the shoot. He quickly pulled Waylon down onto his lap with Waylon's back against Eddie's clothed chest. The caresses under his dress resumed as well as kisses and bites along his neck. They would leave marks, but Waylon was past caring. He was sitting in Eddie's lap and it was perfectly clear how affected Eddie was by their interactions. 

Waylon dared a roll of his hips. He slid against Eddie much easier with the layer of silky satin between them. Eddie moaned at the touch and brought a hand up to lightly stroke Waylon's cheek. Their eyes met. Waylon wasn't sure he had ever shared such an intimate gaze with anyone, male or female. All this lusting after his neighbor, the decision to follow his heart and live openly as a gay man, it had all led him to this moment. Eddie's hand on his cheek slowed and moved to Waylon's kiss-bitten lips. He thumbed his lip as Waylon sat, still meeting his dilated blue eyes. 

Everything was so new and moving so fast. Waylon hardly knew what to do as the object of his desire pushed two thick fingers into his mouth, deeper and deeper. He withdrew them and licked across Waylon's still open mouth, leaving them connected by a strand. Waylon's tongue went out automatically to taste. The reaction had Eddie groaning before shoving his fingers inside once again, almost to the back of Waylon's throat.

The experience might have been new, but Waylon had participated in enough sex to know what Eddie wanted. He writhed on the larger man's lap wearing his satin dress. Was he ready to do this? During sex with Lisa, there had never been a clear dominant partner. Lisa usually initiated, but Waylon had been on top more often than not. He wasn't sure what to make of the sensation of having his body totally owned. Eddie was working his mouth and body with little other communication. 

The next time Eddie's fingers withdrew, trailing saliva over Waylon's lips and chin, he managed to speak, “Eddie. Let me...please you.” It seemed like a good way to phrase it. Eddie moaned against Waylon's scruffy cheek and his arms loosened slightly on their hold on Waylon.

It was easy to slide off of Eddie's lap wearing the satiny dress. Waylon did not bother to fix where Eddie had pulled down the straps giving him a messy, wanton look with his sandy hair messed up and dress half falling off.

Waylon sank to his knees in front of the chair and watched as Eddie stood up and unzipped his trousers. He stopped just before freeing himself and stepped out from between Waylon and the chair. He moved to get something from the stacks of dresses before returning. Waylon was so nervous he could barely comprehend what was happening when a type of comb was pushed back into his hair, keeping stray strands out of his eyes.

He looked up at Eddie confused, but Eddie had finished freeing himself from his pants by that time and all Waylon could do was stare. Waylon had never felt shamed by his own size, but Eddie was huge. The tailor sat back down with his legs wide and his cock bare in Waylon's face. It was long but also thick and the head was already glistening with moisture. 

Waylon considered what he enjoyed. He would just have to do that for Eddie. He _wanted_ to do that for Eddie. Leaning forward he tentatively licked along the head of that intimidating member and melted at the delicious gasp from Eddie in the chair. The taste was much different than a woman, somehow saltier and it made Waylon crave more. His tongue was swirling all along the head and slit before he could stop to consider what might feel best for his partner. 

He mapped out the entire length with his tongue, sliding it from the tip down to the base and even swiping across parts of the balls that were pushed out of the zipper of the tailor's pants. He took Eddie in hand and used it to help guide him into his mouth when Waylon decided to gauge how much he could handle. He closed his lips around the thick shaft enjoying the velvety feel under his tongue, the salty taste of his skin, and the scent of Eddie filling his nostrils. 

Eddie did not give him very much time to grow accustomed to taking the length to the back of his throat. A hand on the back of his head forced Waylon so far forward on the shaft that his hands flew out to Eddie's thighs to brace himself as he choked and gagged. He had never been that rough with Lisa having heard that women did not like that type of treatment. Waylon realized that _he_ liked it. Waylon couldn't stop the string of moans around Eddie's length as his head was forced down. 

When he was released, Waylon coughed and gasped for air, drool flowing out of the sides of his mouth. “You're beautiful, darling,” said Eddie, gazing down with so much emotion that Waylon felt uncomfortable. The moment didn't last long before the rough treatment resumed with Eddie thrusting up with his hips while pushing Waylon down with his hand. “That's it, darling. Whore. I know you're going to take it all.”

Shit. Waylon was so hard under the dress and desperate for some kind of touch. He knew he was leaking on the fine material. He couldn't care in that moment. He slid one hand beneath the skirt to squeeze his own dick while Eddie continued to use his mouth as he pleased. Waylon knew he liked men, but he had not known, until that night, that he liked rough treatment during sex. Having his face fucked by his sexy neighbor was the hottest sexual experience of his life. Waylon could feel his balls tightening and knew his own release was near. 

“Are you ready, darling?” Eddie asked, his voice so low and rough Waylon had to look up. Their eyes met as Waylon sat with his lips stretched around Eddie's cock and tears leaking out of his brown eyes. “Beautiful,” Eddie panted gently, before his tone turned harsh again. “Beautiful slut.”

His hand gently rubbed at the back of Waylon's hair and he finally registered what had been added to his head. A veil. Waylon was sitting on his knees in a white dress, wearing a veil, looking up at Eddie while choking on his cock. The video. Eddie had recreated the video with him. 

The realization was too much and Waylon moaned loudly as he spilled all over his own hand beneath the gown. Eddie assaulted his face once again, thrusting so deep into his throat that Waylon could do nothing but hold himself loose and allow himself to be used. The first spurt down his throat came as a surprise, but Eddie's firm hand on the back of his head kept him in place. The noise the tailor made when he came was music to Waylon's ears. The jagged, broken sound of the moan sang to Waylon's core. He could not avoid the onslaught. He was not sure he had wanted to avoid it, but the point was moot as hot seed poured down his open throat. Waylon swallowed hard, again and again. 

When Eddie finally did release the iron clad grip on the back of Waylon's head, Waylon pulled back keeping his lips tight. He obediently cleaned his friend, tonging his slit, and sucking until he was sure nothing had been wasted. Eddie was staring down at Waylon's face, face damp with sweat, mouth open and panting. 

“Now who looks beautiful...” Waylon said, and Eddie seemed caught off guard by the statement. His brow wrinkled as he seemed to remember where he was and sat back in the chair, quickly putting himself back into his pants. 

Waylon wished he could be back to normal as easily, but he was on his knees in a satin dress on some stained carpet. The crooked veil on top of his sweaty hair was icing on the cake. 

“Eddie, I...” Waylon stopped, still having trouble breathing after the exertion. “I may have ruined this dress.”

Eddie laughed, and it was a delicious sound. It vibrated in his chest and Waylon couldn't help but smile along. “Any stain you might have put on that dress would only improve it in my eyes, darling. It just may be my favorite of all times.”

God it was awkward. So much different than his other first time. There was no cuddling or cute talk. Waylon had to stand up and change out of the dress and veil. He offered them back to Eddie who accepted them with a wicked grin. “I may need to add some stains of my own later...” said the tailor.

Waylon did not know how to respond to that. Instead, he just kissed Eddie hard on the lips. Only after they parted did he remember that he had just had the other man's seed in his mouth, but Eddie did not pull away in the slightest. In fact, he was the first one to slip a tongue along Waylon's lip drawing out a soft moan. 

Waylon locked up the shop and felt awkward. Maybe it would be better if he could have stayed upstairs, but there as no bed and he couldn't invite himself to stay at Eddie's apartment. Besides, Lisa was expecting him home by morning. He desperately hoped she was asleep. 

“Thanks for your assistance with the photos, darling,” Eddie whispered gently against Waylon's ear after having pulled him in for a warm embrace. 

“Anytime,” Waylon mumbled against Eddie's shoulder, suddenly not wanting to pull away. He was so tall and warm and handsome. Waylon desperately hoped this meant they were going to be dating.

“Hey, you two are going to have to take this someplace else,” came a familiar voice that caused both men to groan and pull apart. 

“Officer Walker. Always a pleasure,” Eddie sneered sarcastically. Waylon just gave a nervous chuckle and fished out his car keys.

“See you tomorrow, Eddie.”

“Goodnight, darling.”


	7. Questionable Storage

“The shop is fifteen minutes away. You were there for an hour and a half. And Waylon, I remember well enough what your hair looks like after a bedroom romp. You have sex hair! The worst case I have ever seen.”

Lisa had not been asleep. Even on her days off, she had to stay up until the early morning hours to ensure she was still on a good sleep schedule for her night shifts. Waylon had hoped against hope that they wouldn't have to have this confrontation while he stood still tasting Eddie on his lips.

“I just...I don't feel comfortable talking about this with you, Lis,” said Waylon, trying to dodge the nurse and disappear into the guest room. Well, his room. 

“I am trying to be supportive here, Way! We both knew we would be dating other people. I am happy that you found someone. I just want to know that you're in a good relationship. Safe. That you're both being safe.”

“Oh God,” groaned Waylon. “We did not have sex.” That was the truth, right? Was a blowjob sex? Waylon tried to remember how it had gone down with Clinton and Lewinsky...

“Well, you did something,” Lisa said, and now her hand flew up to Waylon's shirt collar and she pulled down slightly. “I'd say you definitely did something, Way.”

Waylon's face was bright red. He forgot about those. Eddie had probably left his neck quite marked up. Dammit. “Yes. Okay. We made out.”

“Your first kiss from a man?!” Lisa squeed. “I'm so happy for you Way! Do you think you two are getting serious?”

“I...really don't know. But I do like him,” Waylon said, standing and shuffling his feet. He wasn't comfortable talking about this, and it wasn't just because it was his ex-fiance. Waylon wasn't sure he wanted anyone to know he had dressed up like some kind of bride on her wedding day and blown his next door neighbor. In fact, it sounded pretty ludicrous when he thought of if that way.

“The pictures turned out beautiful,” said Lisa, mercifully changing the subject. Waylon found it easy in that moment to remember why he loved her so much. “Your boyfriend is very talented. He makes the kind of wedding dresses I dream of wearing some day.”

“Yeah,” Waylon said, walking toward his bedroom. “They are something else.” Lisa didn't need to know he'd gotten to wear one earlier that night. “It's really late, so I am going to bed Lisa. Thanks for everything today. You're amazing.”

“I know,” she grinned, skipping back to her bedroom as Waylon found his own bed. He stared at the ceiling for the longest time. His first experience with a man and it was nothing like the loving, intimate sessions with Lisa in the past. There was no discussion of boundaries, limits, or desires. It was just Waylon, pushed to his knees, being brutally ravaged...and loving it. He had no idea what the entire ordeal meant for his future. Is that the type of thing that Eddie was into? Well, obviously, but was it the only thing? Was Waylon into that kind of thing? He hoped sleep would help.

The next morning when Waylon arrived at his shop, the chemical stench outside was so thick he covered his face with his sleeve as he ran to unlock his shop and disappear inside. Even his air filters and air conditioning couldn't keep all of the odor out that day. It was caustic and made his nose burn, but soon he became nose blind to the problem. 

Waylon actually had jobs to work on, and that was a relief. He checked in on some of his Murkoff scripts and e-mails, then got busy on actual customer repairs and orders. 

The door opened letting in a new wave of the stench that reminded Waylon that he was no longer smelling it. “Holy shit how do you work with that going on outside?” Miles Upshur said as he walked in, pinching the bridge of his nose and holding his camcorder out, already recording. 

“You don't notice it after a while,” Waylon muttered, keeping his head down over his computer as he worked. 

“So I heard you got some updated credentials. Higher level security level. Some kinda promotion Park?” Miles was leaning over Waylon's desk rather rudely trying to look at his computer screen.

“How did you hear about that?” Waylon asked, angling his screen away.

“You know I can't reveal my sources. So when are you going to help me out then? Do a little digging around?” Miles was wearing a different black jacket over some kinda graphic tee with dark blue jeans. His brown hair was messy, as usual. He somehow managed to turn 'not caring' into a fashion statement. 

“If you have sources, have them do it,” Waylon said.

Miles seemed to be looking over every corner of the store. “You got security cameras?”

“What? No,” said Waylon, pausing as he considered the question. “Do you think I should? I don't know many people that target used computer parts and I don't keep much cash in here.”

“Cameras could help you when it comes time to fight Murkoff. Give you some proof. Cameras make the best witnesses. Impartial. All-seeing,” Miles was pointing his own camera around the store as he spoke. 

“Well, I'll consider it,” Waylon said, though he wouldn't. “But for now, I don't really need to get into helping you with this little environmental issue of yours.”

“Fuck mother earth, I'm not doing this for her. I'm doing it because some fucking suits are putting people at risk with their reckless experiments, and no one's going to call them to task for it. No one.”

“Right...” said Waylon, once again questioning Upshur's sanity. “Well, I'm really busy...”

“Bullshit you're busy. But okay, you're not going to be any more help today, that's fine, but look,” Miles slapped the camcorder shut and put it away as he approached Waylon's desk. He grabbed one of the cheap Bic pens on the table and wrote on the side of one of Waylon's customer receipts. Waylon started to complain, but Miles was already done. 

“If you do decide to stop being a pencil dick and help me out, see what you can find about that.”

Waylon looked down at the scribbled word. It was upside down. But it clearly said WALRIDER. Whatever the hell that meant. 

“Yeah, okay, but what is that? Wa...”

“Shut the fuck up, don't say it out loud,” Miles snapped, looking around the shop quickly like a cornered animal. “No idea. That's why I could use the help researching it,” Miles was combing his fingers through his hair, peering around the room suspiciously. “Anyways. Later, Park.”

Miles pushed through the shop door and before the door shut, Waylon could clearly hear him inhale deeply before muttering, “I love the smell of bullshit in the morning...”

So the reporter had some insider giving him information, and he believed that the chemical company was doing something unethical. Still sounded like pollution to Waylon. Since the checks from Murkoff were still the largest ones he was receiving regularly, Waylon didn't feel the need to turn on them so quickly. Besides, the smell wasn't that bad. And it definitely wasn't all the time.

Waylon waited as long as he could before finally deciding he needed to go next door and see Eddie. The tailor was closed on Sunday, but Eddie used the entire day to work on his sewing. He had to get work done some time, Waylon figured. 

He knocked and waited to be let in, smiling when he saw Eddie wearing an untucked white button-down shirt and black slacks. It was the most casual Waylon had ever seen him. He grimaced when he opened the door. Waylon was about to be offended until he remembered...

“Oh yeah, it's awful today.”

“Get in. Quickly,” Eddie snapped, in a rush to close the door against the offending odor. Once they were safely inside, the two men stared at one another awkwardly for a couple of moments. Waylon was having trouble meeting that bright blue stare and Eddie was grinning, loving his friend's discomfort. 

“So,” Waylon started, staring at his sneakers. “Last night was...awesome.” Eddie chuckled.

“Indeed.”

“I would uhh,” Why was this so difficult? “...like to do that again. Sometime. Maybe not that exactly but, you know, the being with you part.” Waylon paused for a breath before finally meeting that penetrating stare. “Are we dating?”

Eddie's grin was amused. “I had assumed that much was obvious.”

“Have you dated many men?” Waylon asked.

“None,” Eddie admitted. “Save for you.”

“Are you...do you like men?”

The question hung uncomfortably in the air for so long Waylon almost repeated it. “I like you, darling.” Eddie gave a long exhale and walked to lean his back against one of the tables holding the books of fabric samples. “I do not have the best record with relationships. When I was still young I was actively dating. I needed to find the perfect bride, start a family, all that. But I never found her. The women I dated were all...disgusting whores. They weren't deserving of having my babies.”

Waylon was listening with a frown on his face. His own journey to accepting his sexuality was twisted as well, so he tried to be open minded. He nodded for Eddie to continue. 

“When I was very young I had some, traumatic experiences, that left me with some warped views about women and love and sex. That led to... problems. You know about those, darling. Very troubling. Not a proud part of my life. I am lucky that I found the help I needed before I was too far gone, so my therapist tells me. I made reparations to those poor families, and though it can never completely erase what I did, I can only move on with my life.”

“But all of those women you were dating. You are attracted to women? Sexually?” Waylon asked. He was curious because though he had dated women and had sex with women (or woman since it was only Lisa), he had never considered himself sexually attracted to them. 

“I think I was too fucked up to know what I was sexually attracted to. And sexual attraction in general had such a terrible connotation in my brain....” Eddie said, shaking his head sadly.

Waylon's blood ran cold. “The trauma...sexual abuse?”

“Yes,” Eddie's answer was a whisper and Waylon froze, unsure how to progress. Someone had sexually abused Eddie when he was younger. The very idea broke Waylon's heart in two, but he had no idea what to say. 

“I'm so sorry...”

Eddie looked up and met his eyes, seeking something. He found no disgust or judgment, just honest sympathy in those bottomless brown eyes. “Oh darling. You really are too good for me.”

Waylon just shook his head, sandy blond hair shaking into his eyes. He had always been more emotional than some men. Lisa had always loved that about him. At that moment, he cursed it, hoping he would not tear up. How embarrassing. 

“I have not been in any kind of relationship, sexual or otherwise, since I left that hospital over ten years ago. I haven't so much as had a friend. Until you.”

Waylon approached Eddie slowly, not wanting to push his luck with the man. When Eddie made no move to leave his position against the table, Waylon gently slid his hands around Eddie's waist and rested his head against his chest in a soft embrace. “You have a friend now Eddie. You have more than that. You have me.”

“There's something special about you, Waylon. I knew it the moment I saw you,” Eddie's voice was a soft whisper, punctuated by a gentle kiss on Waylon's hair. They stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity, neither wanting to pull away from the other. “Rather off topic, but I did have a request.”

“Anything, Eddie...”

“Oh well, it's just, I noticed you're not using that apartment upstairs. I was wondering if maybe I could store some more things there? I'd be wiling to pay for the storage space. I have too much stored up as it is, and I had to encroach on some rather...questionable storage.”

“Questionable storage?” Waylon asked.

“Ah, yes, it seems this complex at one time had a large underground area. There's an access point from the back of my shop. I managed to break in and have been using it as a kind of basement for my things.”

“Show me.”

Waylon found it curious that a shopping complex would have anything underground like that. He wondered if it was maybe connected to the chemical company's main building. There was a trapdoor in the floor under some thin carpet that Eddie had ripped back. Opening it revealed a ladder put in by Eddie that led down to a large cement room. 

There was no electrical lighting, but Eddie had run a long orange extension cord into the area and some lamps were plugged in. It was twice as large as Eddie's store and if it had been outfit with electricity it would make for a really great selling point for the property. There were broken, exposed pipes, dark corners, and some bare rebar rods pointing up like some kind of death trap. And those were not even the worst parts. 

“God, it smells worse down here than it does outside,” Waylon said, waving his hand in front of his face.

“Tell me about it,” muttered Eddie darkly. “That's why I don't want to keep any more fabric or dresses down here than necessary. I could move them away to your space, if you don't mind.”

“Absolutely. I'm not using the space anyways. If I do decide to start living there, I can always live around the dresses.”

“Oh nonsense, darling,” smiled Eddie. “Maybe I could use my new website to get rid of some of this backlog. Honestly I put so many dresses down here I forgot what is hiding out. It will be good to see it all in the light again.”

Aside from the racks of dresses and boxes of fabric, there was also a large collection of tools and a cheap tool table. Waylon remembered how Eddie had helped them put together his desk in a box that first day. The basement was where Eddie must store all of his tools for various chores. A couple of sewing machines were set up near the pipes against the wall. There was also a weight lifting bench and a collection of dumbbells and barbells. Waylon looked at it with a raised eyebrow.

“You think these muscles come from sewing, darling?” Eddie asked with a wicked grin. Waylon felt the blood rushing out of his brain and into a considerably lower appendage. Eddie was very fit. 

The two men worked through the afternoon relocating the items, hauling them up the ladder, and moving them up to Waylon's empty apartment. When they finished it was already evening. 

“Stay for dinner, darling?” Eddie asked, hopefully.

Waylon was happy to stay, and to get his first glimpse at Eddie's upstairs apartment. The furniture was sparse, but well made. The best part was that the upstairs smelled amazing. Eddie had a crock-pot full of delicious soup filled with beef, barley, and vegetables. Both men ate a heaping bowl with a side of artisan bread. Waylon was impressed. The table was heavy wood and the bowls thick pottery. It was smaller than his apartment with Lisa, but outfitted much nicer.

There was no television, which struck Waylon as very strange. First no computer, then no television? 

“What do you do for entertainment in the evenings?” Waylon asked.

“Why, I sew. I thought that was obvious...” Eddie said.

“Oh, but I mean to relax?”

“I find sewing very relaxing. It's what helped me through my time at the hospital. It felt good to have my hands and mind occupied, to keep my thoughts from traveling down more unhappy avenues. And then I suppose I became a little...obsessed,” Eddie said, shrugging. He looked so handsome in his casual clothing. Waylon could only smile.

“Well, I would be lost without television. Or at least internet so I could stream some movies or something. Have you seen any movies in the last fifteen years?”

Eddie shrugged and shook his head. Waylon grinned. It took only a few minutes for Waylon to retrieve his laptop and set it up in Eddie's living room where they sat curled up together on his brown leather couch watching the eighteen inch screen. Waylon chose to play, _The Matrix_. Eddie was completely lost—which Waylon found hilarious. And eventually they just ended up making out anyways. 

There was no move toward anything more sexual, and Waylon couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. It was very nice just to hold Eddie and kiss him. The evening seemed too precious to want to push toward anything else. And Waylon had a lot to think about anyways. Learning about Eddie's past and his relationship issues. He realized Eddie had never answered the question about whether he considered himself gay or something else. Oh well. Waylon wasn't going anywhere. He gently ran his fingertips through Eddie's slicked back hair as their lips moved slowly and comfortably. 

Waylon didn't remember Neo stopping the bullets, and he didn't remember falling asleep on Eddie's couch. He woke up covered with a soft, fluffy blanket and his laptop was closed. He desperately tried to remember if Lisa had work that night. He checked his phone. Forty texts. Nope. Lisa wasn't at work.

Waylon was trapped. He covered his head with the blanket and ignored his phone. The next thing he knew, it was morning and Eddie was brewing some kind of coffee that smelled strange. Waylon stumbled into the small kitchen area and discovered why.

“Tea?” he asked, scrunching up his nose at a coffee mug steaming with a teabag hanging over the side.

“Morning, darling,” smiled Eddie. He looked showered and shaved. Waylon looked like he had slept on the couch. 

“I uh, good morning Eddie,” Waylon said, yawning and scratching his blond hair that was standing straight up in the back. “Sorry I fell asleep. Lisa's blowing up my phone. Worried probably. I need to run home and...clean up.”

“Of course,” Eddie said, standing up and moving to pull Waylon into a tight hug. “What are you doing this afternoon?”

“Uh, nothing, unless work happens...through some miracle there's a customer,” Waylon said.

“Today is my monthly required visit to the therapist. I usually take public transportation, but I was wondering, if you didn't mind...”

“I'd love to give you a ride Eddie,” Waylon said, giving a small smile.

“Pick me up at four thirty.”


	8. What You Do To Me

Lisa was livid. “I tried texting. I tried calling. I called your shop. I was so worried about you, Way.”

“I'm sorry Lis, but I mean, I am a grown ass man. And you and I, we're not together anymore.”

“Not a single fucking 'yes I'm alive' text? That's un-fucking-acceptable.”

“Fine fine, okay, I'm sorry, I fell asleep at Eddie's...” Her eyebrows shot to the top of her head. “Not like that, we were watching a movie.”

“Whatever. I have done nothing but be there for you Way. Be there for you, even when anyone else would have fucking run away. You know I still love you. The least you could do is give me some fucking semblance of compassion and make sure I know you're not dead in a ditch somewhere. That place is on such a bad side of town, your neighbors seem strange, there's weird smells, I just...”

“Hey, hey,” Waylon soothed, reaching out to pull Lisa into his arms. She was so pitiful when she cried. Her entire body was shaking and the noises were like some kind of wounded chipmunk. It was pathetic. “I'm sorry babe. I'm really sorry. I won't do it again.” He held her like that for several minutes, rocking her through her tears. She buried her face against his shoulder and left a large wet stain before finally pulling away and getting a tissue to wipe her face. 

“It's just still so new, Way.”

“It's been months now...”

“Months, Way,” Lisa said, turning those sad blue eyes back on Waylon. “Months of me accepting that the man that I wanted to spend forever with...the man that I had known since middle school...the man that I...”

“Shh, c'mon Lis. None of this is easy for me either...”

“I know. I'm sorry,” sniffed Lisa. “I just still love you so goddamn much. And I can't stop worrying about you. If I can't be your partner and lover and wife...let me at least be your friend and family. I'm not...I can't walk away from you entirely, Way. Not after the last fucking twelve years of our lives.”

“Of course not Lisa. I'm not walking away from you, either,” Waylon said.

“Waylon...” There was almost no warning before she was throwing herself back against Waylon, plump soft lips seeking his, even while Waylon pushed her away. 

“No. No, Lisa. I'm with Eddie now.”

“Eddie...” Lisa muttered darkly. “Right.”

Waylon didn't have time for that conversation. He left a distraught Lisa behind after he showered, shaved, and brushed his teeth. Ready for another day living the dream as a small business owner. He quickly made his way back to the shopping complex and walked inside to a ringing phone.

Ah wonderful. It was going to be one of those days. The kind of day that Waylon woke up in a strange place, got bitched at by the old lady, and walked into a shit storm at the office. Fine. Waylon stalked down to the strip-mall church closest to the guarded entrance to the Murkoff building. 

Inside, Father Martin was fuck all help. Apparently, the church's internet was free to those in need during church hours, but someone sneaked in after hours and attempted to gain access to Murkoff's system. Waylon was called in to ensure this wasn't some kind of terror attack using sophisticated computer equipment.

Jeremy Blaire arrived a half hour later, looking more irritated than ever. “What happened, Park? Where did our system go down? Why weren't you guarding against this?”

“They didn't use any kind of code or hacking,” Waylon said, frowning at the use of the word. “This could only barely be considered social engineering. The person in question attempted to log into different accounts using the password “password.” They got lucky.”

“Who in fuck's name was using the password 'password?' Jeremy spat.

“Uhh...looks like someone named Andrew..”

“That fuck,” cursed Blaire before Waylon could read off the employee's last name. “Did this terrorist manage to get anything?”

“I'm not sure really. Whoever it was seemed to be trying to do some kinda search for...Wal...”

“Our Lord, the Walrider,” interrupted Father Martin, whom Waylon had frankly forgotten was even present. “Tearing his truth into the nonbelievers.”

“Uh...right,” Waylon said, staring strangely at the priest before turning back to Blaire. “The employee, Andrew, he didn't have the clearance for any search. Whoever they were, they did not get anything. Nothing more advanced was used.”

“You're sure about this, Park?” Jeremy demanded.

“Yes, sir,” he answered, closing his laptop.

“You're on your last warning, Father. This place doesn't pay rent. Another problem originates out of this joke of a church and you will be finding another free ride for your congregation of freaks and weirdos.”

Waylon stood by awkwardly as Mr. Blaire berated the wrinkled holy man. Waylon took the opportunity to look around the strange church. There were pews, and a plain altar, and a few separate rooms filled with chairs set up in circles. On a nearby wall, a modest frame held up a computer print out declaring Martin Archimbaud certified to perform marriages in the state of Colorado. Was that the man's only religious credential?

A closer look around the area showed several people sitting quietly in the pews, staring at the floor. One of them looked at Waylon and made eye contact before quickly standing up and walking out the back of the church. He had been a young man with a shaved head, otherwise nondescript. Two particularly tall and almost identical thugs sat in the front row, frowning at anyone getting too close to the black robed priest. If one could call him that at all. 

“Did you need me for anything else?” Waylon asked of Jeremy who was now glaring at his cellphone as though it had just insulted his mother.

“Fuck off Park. Write up everything you just told me in more professional language and have it in my e-mail within the hour,” said Jeremy Blaire.

“Sure,” muttered Waylon, making toward the door, weaving through a few strange characters looking lost among the pews. Even the disgusting smell of chemicals outside couldn't shake Waylon's relief at being out of that room. The e-mail was written and sent within a half hour, allowing Waylon to move onto more satisfying endeavors such as his actual customers. They were still slow coming in, but he hoped all of them were having a good experience. He hoped they would spread the word.

“Sorry I freaked :)” A text from Lisa.

“No problem Lis :)” An answer.

Waylon was in the middle of a bid-war when four thirty finally rolled around. Eddie walked in wearing a tailored vest with matching pants and a light blue shirt underneath. He even had on a corresponding bow-tie and fingerless gloves. “You look so handsome,” Waylon said, staring up from his screen in awe as Eddie walked into the cramped computer shop. 

“One must make a good impression when visiting ones court appointed psychiatrist, darling.”

The ride was enjoyable with Eddie suggesting an AM station that played only strange old songs Waylon had never heard. Eddie hummed along familiar with the tunes. The clinic was beautifully landscaped with a red brick facade. Other people were walking in and out of the doors which held the names of several different doctors. Eddie seemed confident and at ease as he checked in and was called back behind a swinging set of doors to visit with his shrink. Waylon sat outside, surfing the internet on his phone, and watching the cable news on the lobby television. 

He had only happened to glance up when he saw someone he hadn't thought to see again that day. Jeremy Blaire walked into the clinic trailed by a group of suits. Without stopping at the front desk, he pushed through the double doors and stalked away down the hall. What the fuck was he doing here?

It bothered Waylon for the rest of the hour as he waited for Eddie to come back out to the lobby. He was temporarily distracted from his unease when he spotted his friend, looking as dashing as ever. Eddie spoke to the old receptionist at the desk, received a card detailing his next appointment, and turned to beam a broad smile at Waylon. 

“Darling.”

“Everything go okay?” Waylon asked, looking suspicious.

“Of course. Everything was fine. Why do you ask?” Eddie asked raising a single eyebrow.

“I saw Jeremy Blaire walk back in there,” Waylon said, lowering his voice conspiratorially and glancing back toward the double doors where Blaire had vanished. Eddie's answering look was disturbingly dark. 

“Let's go home,” said Eddie, not bothering to look back for any sign of Blaire. 

The return trip was considerably less comfortable. Waylon was disturbed by seeing the asshole face-man of the chemical company at Eddie's psychiatrist office, but Eddie was less surprised. 

“Those bastards have their hands in everything in this city. They seem to creep up in my life in the worst ways. I'm not even surprised anymore when Murkoff comes calling. Blaire is the worst of them. Insufferable asshole,” Eddie said, staring out the car window. 

“Have you been going to this particular doctor's office for long?” Waylon asked, keeping his eyes on the road. The strange old-timey music was starting to make him feel edgy.

“I had another doctor before he retired. I have been seeing Doctor Connors for over six years now. My first doctor thought I was making great progress. He even saw me one day living without the use of any daily medications. He was a proponent of giving patients the tools to make it without drugs,” Eddie shifted, resting his shoulder against the car door as he spoke. “That doctor was pushed into early retirement for that attitude. I like Dr. Connors just fine, but there's never mention of stopping medication or different treatment options. It wouldn't surprise me if this place and all the doctor's in it were owned by Murkoff and their ilk.”

Waylon dropped the subject, not wanting to force Eddie to continue on that same depressing line of thought. Eddie had mentioned on their date that Murkoff offered him a spot in their complex, and when he refused, it had soon become his only option. How did they even know about Eddie? Was it because of his successful tailor shop...or was it because they had ties to the doctor he had been seeing for half a decade? Waylon was getting as bad as Miles Upshur—thinking up crazy conspiracy theories. They drove the rest of the way in companionable silence with that strange music playing over the speakers.

Maybe the mood was wrong. And the disgusting burnt tire smell wasn't exactly romantic. But none of that stopped Waylon from kissing Eddie as soon as they were inside of his tailor's shop. 

The photo-shoot was days ago, and Waylon could not stop wishing and hoping for more of Eddie. The tailor was not rejecting his advances, further prompting Waylon to pull Eddie's head down to his level and kiss him hungrily. He took one of Eddie's hands and directed it to his covered crotch, pushing his hips forward. “This is what you do to me, Eddie.” 

When Eddie made no further movements, Waylon paused slightly unsure what to do. He tried rolling his hips forward again but there was still no response. He kissed at Eddie's mouth only to find his jaw set and lips closed. Waylon's enthusiasm quickly flagged. “Uhh...” Waylon stuttered, unsure what to say. 

“I apologize, darling. I'm rather tired,” Eddie whispered, close enough that Waylon could feel the puff of his breath against his cheek. Yet Eddie seemed a thousand miles away. 

“Yeah. Of course. I'm sorry, Eddie. Get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow.”

And as luck would have it, Lisa was not working that evening. She immediately took in the kicked-puppy look on Waylon's face and pulled out the pistachio ice cream and beers. Not usually a good mix, but desperate times. 

“So you two still haven't...” Lisa was being especially open minded and nice after their argument that morning. Waylon had always appreciated how easily she could forgive and forget. She would make someone a great wife one day. 

“No,” admitted Waylon, frowning sadly as he took a sip of beer. “But I want to. I think. I mean, I'm ready to try. I want it to be with Eddie. I'm just not sure what's the issue.”

“Why not just come out and ask?” Lisa suggested, scraping up the last melted bits of ice cream up with her spoon. 

“He's got issues with sex. And God knows I have issues with sex having ya know, never had it with a man. I don't know. Maybe we need to take it much slower,” Waylon said. Though Eddie's hand behind his head when he was on his knees had conveyed only the desire to move quickly. 

“Be a man Way, just ask. Buy some lube. Fuck being coy ya know?”

“Here's some lube, let's fuck? Is that how you're planning on landing your next beau?”

“I certainly won't be wasting another twelve years on lukewarm sex,” Lisa said.

“Ouch,” Waylon said, taking a long swig of his beer. She was right, though. Nothing in their decade together came close to that one night on the floor in front of Eddie. God, Waylon needed more. “I wish Eddie had a phone.”

“So you could drunk dial him right now?” giggled Lisa. “Get some sleep Way. Just, take it one day at a time. But learn from our mistakes. Be open and up front about what you want. Don't be afraid to ask for what you need. And if he can't give you that, find someone else. This is only the first dude you've met you know? You should shop around. Want me to be your wingman? Take you out to a bar or something?”

“Oh God that sounds horrible,” groused Waylon, causing Lisa to laugh.

“So I guess if I need a wingman at a bar I can't count on you?” she asked.

“Don't you have girlfriends for that type of thing?” Waylon asked, fear and desperation creeping into his tone. 

“Of course Way,” chuckled Lisa. She cleaned up the bowls, recycled the beer bottles, and led her ex-fiance to his own bed to sleep. She allowed herself just one minute to watch him. That familiar chest rise and fall. The soft sound that was somewhere between a snore and a wheeze. The sights and sounds of her lover sleeping. Not her lover anymore. Her friend. Lisa shut the door and went to her own bed, determined not to cry herself to sleep again for the second time that week.


	9. Real Classy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut Warning.

On the way to work the next morning, Waylon followed Lisa's advice and stopped at a drug store to buy some lube. He didn't even go for the small bottle – he went for the economy size. He figured he could afford to hope. 

Waylon's morning was quiet until he was called away to the office of Dr. Richard Trager, the chiropractor in the shopping center. His internet wasn't working. Waylon turned it off, and back on again. With the problem solved, he took his leave, the doctor calling out a 'thanks buddy' as he left. 

A large box had been left outside of his door with a smaller shirt box on top. He had been expecting a delivery of used computer parts he had won on an online auction. The smaller box was an enigma. He took them both inside before opening the shirt box and watching a small handwritten note flutter out to the ground. He picked up the note and quickly read, “Wear these for me tonight, darling.” It wasn't signed. It didn't have to be. 

The contents of the shirt box were concealed by delicate white tissue paper. Waylon pulled it back and stared confused. White silk. White lace. No tags. In the box were silky underwear and a lacy top that looked like they were designed for a woman, but Waylon suspected they would fit him perfectly. They were obviously handmade by Eddie. 

Waylon slid a finger across the fabric of the underwear and immediately felt himself stiffen in his jeans. Eddie wanted him to wear these? Did that mean Eddie wanted to have sex tonight? Surely that's what it meant, right? Good thing he had bought all that lube. But wait, did he really have to wear these girly undergarments? Did he want to? Waylon shoved the shirt box into a desk drawer and decided to put off thinking about it.

He busied himself all afternoon taking inventory of all the new parts and calling a customer to know the part they had requested was in the store ready for pick-up. But no matter how busy he was, Waylon kept thinking about silk. He locked the shop and excused himself upstairs to the empty bathroom. He pulled his blue, collared shirt over his head and touched the lacy top experimentally. He shrugged as he pulled it on over his head. The lace material was actually very stretchy. The top hugged around his chest, cut in a mockery of a sweetheart neckline that would accentuate a woman's chest, though obviously Waylon had none. 

Well, if Waylon was willing to go that far, he decided he may as well try on the matching set. He pulled off his jeans and boxers and slid on the silky panties. The cut in the back was precise to fit over his backside while leaving just a peek of his cheeks coming out the bottom sides. Waylon was surprised at how shapely his ass looked. The front looked much less feminine with his man junk crammed inside. Would Eddie want him to tuck? Wait. No. 

Waylon was about to take off the underwear when he heard a loud knock on the door downstairs. He quickly put his jeans and shirt back on, leaving the undergarments, and rushed back downstairs to the door. He immediately wished he had not.

“Waylon Park. My man. Security breech over at Saint Psycho's?”

“How do you hear these things so quickly...”

“What did I say about my sources? C'mon now. Did they get anything good?” Miles asked.

“They got nothing, but I really can't talk about it anyways. You know I signed an NDA.”

“I do know that. I also do not give a shit. Listen, these guys don't play by the rules, so why are you playing by theirs?”

“Is there a particular reason you're here today Miles, or just the usual paranoia about environmental pollution?”

“What did you think of friendly 'Father' Martin there, Park?” Miles asked, holding up his fingers to act as quotation marks when he spoke the man's title. 

“He seemed...”

“Bat shit insane, right? Yeah. Not a priest. Not even any kind of religion I can figure out. Claims he's his own kind of religion. Why on earth would a chemical company keep such an unpredictable crazy ass church on their own premise. Ask yourself that.”

Waylon asked himself that. He remembered what Martin had said. Something about Walrider. The same word Miles had written down that day on his customer receipt...

“Yeah, his background doesn't turn up any religious training,” Miles continued. “Know what it does turn up? Murkoff. Paid position. Probably some kind of test subject. No way of knowing, all files destroyed. I don't know why that place bothers to print out anything considering it all just ends up shredded and incinerated at the end of the day. Fucking waste of resources,” Miles said.

“Hey, where's your camera? You're always on that thing,” Waylon said, looking over the reporter. Today's outfit was black denim with a gray button-down and black leather jacket. 

“Out of batteries. I'm not here long anyways. And I can see you're going to be as useful as usual. As in, you're not being useful. So, thanks for nothing, go fuck yourself. You know how to reach me when you're ready to talk.”

“Ready to talk about what, I keep telling you that I don't...” It was pointless. Miles was gone, and a different tall shadowed figure was standing outside his shop door. 

“Good evening, darling,” said Eddie, walking into the shop with a wide smile as though the awkward stand off from the previous day had not happened. 

“Oh uh,” way to go Waylon, great with the conversation. “Hi Eddie.”

“I have another soup on. Care to join me for dinner?”

“Fuck yeah,” Waylon said. Real classy.

Waylon brought over his laptop satchel, hyper aware of the huge bottle of lube he'd tucked away inside. He was also very aware of the way the silk panties caressed his package as he walked. It teased in a nice way while not being as restrictive as he would have guessed. 

Dinner was a cream based soup with squash and corn. Eddie was surprisingly good at feeding himself for a bachelor. They talked with their usual ease. Waylon updated Eddie on the call down to the chiropractor's office that day. Eddie talked about a crazy bitch bride (his words) demanding he make the dress a size smaller because she was dieting. Poor girl. Waylon could only imagine the hell Eddie gave her.

And when the evening ended up in their familiar spot on the couch, Waylon suddenly felt very nervous. He had no idea what he had done wrong the day before and was desperate not to make the same mistake. Waylon sat back and allowed his friend to make the first move. When Eddie leaned in for a kiss, Waylon sighed in relief. Finally. He kissed Eddie, not holding back any of the longing he felt, allowing his hand to run over the short cut hair on his boyfriend's head. 

Waylon kept his hands above the waist, tasting Eddie's mouth and feeling his desire growing until he realized he might soon be popping out of the underwear he had neglected to change. Eddie kissed along his neck, stopping when his lips were against Waylon's ear. “Show me again, darling.” He punctuated the statement with a nip on Waylon's lobe that had him gasping in pleasure. “Show me what I do to you.”

It was all the invitation Waylon needed. He reached for Eddie's large, strong hand and moved it over to his crotch. He moaned softly as that hand cupped him and palmed where his erection was outlined in his jeans. “Are you dressed pretty for me?” Eddie's velvet voice ignited Waylon's core. Any shame or embarrassment about the panties vanished in an instant.

“I'm wearing both of your gifts, if that's what you mean,” Waylon breathed, causing Eddie to groan and claim Waylon's mouth, kissing him hard and rough. 

“Get in the bedroom and show me.” Eddie's eyes showed only a sliver of their usual bright blue around the large, inky black pupils so dilated as they stared at Waylon. There was no time to think about relationship roles, only time to obey. Waylon followed Eddie to the only other room in the apartment, the small bedroom he'd yet to visit.

Inside, Eddie's bedroom was stark with a bed, two nightstands, an armoire and full length mirror. Waylon stared at the bed as he worked on getting his jeans off. Charcoal gray comforter, a fluffy red blanket, and the sheets. Waylon's skin prickled at the sight of them. Of course the sheets would be satin.

Waylon undressed with the grace of a clumsy teenage boy, not making a very good show at all, but once his shirt and jeans were off he wrapped his arms around himself to hide the remaining clothing. He pulled at the see-through lacy top, trying to make it cover more of his chest and stomach. The panties were already straining to hold in his growing erection and swelling balls. He tried readjusting to keep all the important parts hidden. 

Eddie came up behind him, snaking his arms around to lightly feel up his boyfriend's body, paying particular attention to where Waylon's nipples were visible through the lace. Waylon leaned his back against Eddie's chest, gasping slightly. He certainly did not feel like a woman in any way. But being dressed like this, and having Eddie's hands on him, turned him on. And the teasing feel of those fabrics against his flesh amplified that feeling.

“Let me look at you, darling,” Eddie said, gently turning Waylon until he was standing at the edge of the bed. Blue eyes ravaged his body, taking in every inch as they carefully traveled up and down Waylon's form. “You're beautiful,” Eddie said, lightly kissing Waylon's neck before pushing him gently into a seated position on the bed. “Lay back, Waylon.” 

Why did his body respond immediately before his brain had time to catch up? Waylon leaned back on his elbows, leaving his scantily clad body in its lace and silk on display for Eddie. The larger man began to slowly undress himself, eyes never leaving Waylon's lewd display on the bed. 

First the vest, then the shirt. Waylon had never gotten to see Eddie naked before. A hand flew to his silk panties to rub himself as he watched, but Eddie only made a slight tsk sound and shook his head. “None of that, darling. Just try to enjoy the anticipation.” The smile he gave when Waylon made a pathetic whimpering sound was as wicked as it was gorgeous. 

Waylon stared longingly as Eddie's body became bare one part at a time. He was briefly distracted by strange marks that left parts of Eddie's chest and upper arms pocked with white circular scars. There was a light dusting of black hair across his chest and a trail leading down the middle of his toned stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his trousers.

Eddie's belt and pants slid down from his shapely hipbones revealing muscular thighs and a rock hard erection springing free. Waylon bit his lip, suddenly worried. If they really were going to have sex, it would probably hurt. He desperately hoped that Eddie could be gentle. At least more gentle than the night when Waylon was on his knees. The tailor carefully folded and set his clothing aside, giving Waylon a great view of his firm ass before he turned and approached the bed, fully naked. Finally, was all Waylon could think.

Eddie crawled onto the bed, legs on either side of Waylon, and he began to kiss and paw at his lover with new vigor. Waylon moaned into the kiss, trying to wrap his legs around Eddie and draping is arms over his shoulders. Eddie kissed all over Waylon's face, his neck, his collar and shoulders. He cried out when Eddie bit down at the tender flesh on the side of his throat. Waylon's hips desperately raised off the bed, seeking friction with Eddie's body and being consistently denied as Eddie kept their bodies hovering apart. Finally, a hand drifted down between them, fingertips lightly teasing over the silk fabric, and easily feeling the wetness already seeping through from Waylon's weeping cock. “So eager,” Eddie purred. “Like a good little slut.”

It definitely wasn't the first time that Waylon had imagined, but his body was too keyed up to care. He couldn't even think of the term as an insult. Eddie was pleased with him. Eddie wanted him. Waylon lifted his shoulders to meet Eddie's lips, biting hard at his bottom lip and pulling slightly as he lowered back to the bed only releasing his lover's flesh when he gasped in slight pain. “Filthy whore,” growled Eddie. Waylon smiled deviously up at his lover.

“Let me fill you up,” Eddie breathed, leaning down to lick along the shell of Waylon's ear. “I need to be inside of you. I can make you whole.”

Waylon moaned, his body writhing against the satin sheets beneath him. “Eddie I...I brought lube.”

“Did you really?” Eddie asked, a wry grin breaking out on his handsome face. “You wanted me to fuck you tonight?”

“Yes,” Waylon breathed, staring into Eddie's eyes, wondering if he should feel ashamed. He was just stating what he wanted, after all. Lisa had said he should be assertive about his desires.

The next movements were so fast, Waylon barely understood what had happened. Eddie flew out of the room, returning seconds later with the unnecessarily large bottle of lube. Before Waylon could make any comments or complaints, Eddie flipped him over to his stomach on the bed, and pulled Waylon onto his hands and knees. Next, Eddie forcefully pulled down the panties until they were tangled around Waylon's mid-thighs, effectively binding him in place. “Eddie,” Waylon whimpered, craning his neck back in time to see Eddie coat his hand generously with lube before...

The first slide of a slick finger across his puckered hole had Waylon gasping. The feel of cold lubricant dripping down his perineum was foreign, but not uncomfortable. A finger was circling lazily, outlining every wrinkle and seam. Then Waylon felt himself breached by a thick finger. Other than his own clumsy attempts at self stimulation, he had never felt anything touching him there and definitely nothing so deep. As the finger slid deeper in and out Waylon started to groan. When a second finger joined, he pushed his hips back on Eddie's hands, and as those fingers wiggled and loosened he couldn't stop himself from reaching down to stroke himself. 

“Darling, you have to behave,” Eddie chastised, pulling Waylon's hand away and pushing the smaller man's face into the mattress causing Waylon's ass to stick further up in the air. When the third finger was added, Eddie adjusted the way he was stroking and made contact with a spot that had Waylon crying out sharply. “Are you okay?” Eddie asked in a tone tinged with concern.

“Fuck yeah,” Waylon said, mouth half muffled against the bed. 

Eddie chuckled at the foul language. “Such language. Not very ladylike.”

“Nothing about me is ladylike,” Waylon retorted as the fingers withdrew and he heard new wet sounds. He looked back panicked to see Eddie oiling up his large, throbbing cock. 

“Are you ready, darling? It's time to push inside,” Eddie's voice was soft, comforting...arousing. Waylon was moaning and whimpering as he felt the slick head of his lover's shaft against his well greased opening. 

“Give it to me,” Waylon said through clenched teeth. His body completely tensed in preparation. 

“You have to relax, darling,” Eddie said, gently running a hand down Waylon's back. “You have to let me in.”

It was a struggle to relax. Waylon was so nervous but excited, cock dripping onto Eddie's sheets. He wished he could see Eddie's face when he entered him for the first time, but it was too late to have an open discussion about what they each wanted. Waylon was on his knees with a cock pressed to his lubed opening. This was happening. He bit his lip and forced himself to breathe. Relax. Enjoy.

The thick head finally succeeded in sliding past the tight muscular ring, and both men moaned in unison. Eddie was slow but relentless as he gripped Waylon's hips and pushed himself forward. Waylon gasped at the burning, stretching pain of Eddie inside of him. At one point he tried to pull away but Eddie stopped him with a firm hand and a quiet shushing sound. By the time their hips were flush together and Eddie's heavy balls resting against him, Waylon was a moaning mess and his knuckles were white gripping the sheets. 

“Perfect, darling,” Eddie moaned, his voice broken and strained. “Like you were made for me.” And then he was moving. Waylon tried to relax. He tried to feel the delicious pleasure over the burning pain, but it was too much. Tears flowed freely from the corners of his eyes as he squeezed them shut. Eddie picked up the pace, hips meeting in a wet slap with each forward thrust. The feeling of his lover sliding through his insides and parting him deep was too much. Waylon cried out as he came, painting a white stain across the fine sheets. “You love this don't you, you filthy whore,” Eddie growled.

“Yes,” Waylon panted, unsure how he was even able to talk. Eddie groaned at his answer and started forcing himself in deeper and harder. Waylon wailed at the onslaught. “Fill me Eddie.” 

“That's right, darling. Who's a little whore for me?”

“I am,” Waylon groaned. The deep, penetrating thrusts left a trail of pain up his back, but he didn't care. His face crushed against the mattress, he glanced out of the corner of his eye to see Eddie coming undone. His usually perfect hair had started to fall into his eyes which were squeezed shut. His hands gripped Waylon's ass so hard it would surely bruise.

“It's almost time now, darling,” Eddie moaned, fingers digging into Waylon's hips. “Fill you up with my seed. I know you'll give it a soft place to grow.” The thrusts became less controlled, more sporadic and desperate until Eddie keened loudly and buried himself deep. “ I want you to have my babies.” Any confusion about the strange bedroom talk was forgotten when Waylon felt Eddie climax.

A new warmth filled Waylon, drawing a long moan from the computer tech. He could feel the twitching and spurting of his lover deep inside. It was satisfying. Knowing he had given Eddie what he wanted. Eddie was pleased with him. Even if he did seem to berate him throughout and dress him like a girl. Waylon kind of liked it.

The withdrawal left Waylon with a strange feeling of loss. Having Eddie inside him had felt beyond right, and losing that feeling was almost sad. He collapsed boneless into the mattress, not caring about the mess from his own release or the thick wetness dripping from his abused hole. Eddie did not seem to care either as he crashed onto the bed next to Waylon. Eddie wasted no time spooning his lover and kissing Waylon's sweaty blond hair. “You really are perfect for me, darling.”

“I feel the same way,” Waylon mumbled, tiredly. He tried to wriggle out of the silk panties but they had become so wet and tangled around his thighs it was almost impossible. Eddie chuckled as he assisted Waylon with undressing and draped a blanket over the two of them. 

“Stay the night with me, Waylon,” Eddie whispered against his lover's flushed ear.

“Of course, Eddie...” was the last thing Waylon managed before sleep and unconsciousness took him.

Waylon woke up and realized his head was nestled against Eddie's chest. The larger man was sprawled out naked on the bed, a blanket laughably only covering his privates. Waylon could not believe that he was there in Eddie's bed. Remembering what they had shared set his cheeks on fire, but something else pulled him out of bed. Waylon fumbled through his discarded jeans to find his cellphone and quickly checked messages. Nothing. Lisa must have been at work. He quickly texted her to let her know he had slept over at Eddie's so she wouldn't worry. When his phone vibrated with the responding text it was a huge paragraph of horrified emojii faces. Great. He would deal with that later. For that moment, Waylon crawled back into bed with his lover and ignored the rest of the world.

The next time he awoke, Eddie was stirring next to him in the bed. He rolled over and draped a huge arm across Waylon, smiling sleepily with his eyes still closed. 

“Morning, Eddie,” grinned Waylon, watching Eddie's sleepy face through lowered lashes. 

“Darling,” he really drew the word out, caressing it with his voice, stirring Waylon's sleeping manhood. The smaller man snuggled closer, placing a light kiss on Eddie's collar bone as he slipped a hand between their bodies to squeeze his lover's morning wood. “You're insatiable,” mumbled Eddie.

Waylon chuckled, stroking Eddie from base to tip with slow, even movements while feathering kisses along his neck. Eddie had yet to open his eyes, sighing sleepily at his lover's attentions. Truthfully, Waylon was feeling incredibly sore that morning and not sure he could take more. But he was awfully interested in giving his lover the same type of thorough treatment. When Eddie pressed into Waylon's touch, he grinned and released his shaft, allowing his hand to press lower, palming balls and then continuing until he found a soft area to press inwards.

Eddie jumped awake so quickly Waylon yelped and practically flew off of the bed. He bolted upright on his knees staring at Eddie who was looking about with wide blue eyes like a frightened animal. “Sorry Eddie! Did I surprise you? I didn't...”

Waylon was cut short by a backhanded slap. He had not seen it coming and had no idea how to react as he swayed and fell off the bed between the mattress and the wall, ears ringing loudly and blood filling his mouth where he had bit his tongue. 

“Darling...are you okay? Tell me you're okay. Waylon, I...” But Waylon was already in flight mode. He struggled into his jeans as Eddie stammered his apologies. He threw on a shirt, grabbed his bag, and dashed toward the door. Of course Eddie was taller, faster, and stronger. He stopped Waylon at the door.

“I'm so sorry Waylon, please, listen to me, I...” Eddie's blue eyes were pleading, but Waylon's brown eyes were glazed with shock and fear. Eddie gripped Waylon's shoulders and pulled him in for a forced kiss that only had Waylon giving a noise that was somewhere between a whimper and a sob. Eddie pulled back and Waylon could see his blood on Eddie's lips.

“Goodbye, Eddie...” Waylon said, turning quickly and rushing down the stairs. He struggled at the shop door. So many fucking locks. Eddie easily caught up to him, begging, pleading, reaching out...

Waylon jerked at the wrong moment and one of those reaches made contact with his sore face where a bruise was already blooming. He flinched and froze up, eyes squeezed shut. “Don't hurt me...” he whimpered. 

Eddie's shoulders slumped, defeated. He helped Waylon with the locks and stood silently as the object of his heart's desire fled the store for the safety of his Volkswagen and drove away without another backwards glance.


	10. At the Gay Bar

The sound of the apartment door slamming drew Lisa out of her room. She was wearing a robe and her hair was still up in a towel, wet from the shower. “Way! Oh my God, I got your text. So you stayed over again? Was it sex this time? Was it...what the fuck happened to your face?”

Waylon's eyes darted around as he tried to think. What to do. But this was Lisa. So, the truth. “Eddie hit me.”

“Like, you two are into freaky sex?” Lisa asked, taking the towel down and letting her wet brown hair fall down her back.

“No, like, he hit me. I made him mad somehow. I don't really know what I did. He seemed to just...like a reflex...and I bit my tongue...”

“Way,” Lisa said, her voice breaking as she threw herself at her ex-fiance and held him tight. “No one's allowed to hit you, baby.”

“I know,” Waylon said, looking up to keep the tears that were gathering from falling. “I don't think he meant it.”

“Fuck that Way! No one is allowed to hit you!” Lisa reiterated, her head firmly pressed against his shoulder as she continued her constricting hold. “This guy seems nice, but maybe he's not right for you. You can't just date the first guy you find. Especially not if he hits you. This isn't cool, Way.”

“I know,” he said quietly, though inside he was already thinking of Eddie. Maybe he should have stayed. Eddie had seemed so repentant.

“You're done with that fucker,” Lisa said.

“No, Lis, it's more complicated than that, I won't just walk away from this if it might be something. Besides, I knew about his past...”

“What past,” Lisa said, pulling away to stare daggers at Waylon. “You never told me he has some kind of past. What the fuck, Way? Spill it.”

She led him over to the couch and they both sat down. She allowed him a few moments without pushing until he was ready to speak. “He was abused as a kid. Sexually, Lisa. It's very personal and hard for him to talk about.”

“That doesn't give someone the right to hurt you Way...”

“I know. I know that. And he has a history of domestic violence. He...hurt some women. One of them died.”

“Oh my fucking God, why is this guy out on the streets?!” Lisa's voice was getting that high pitched panic quality that grated on Waylon's nerves.

“He did his time, he completed his therapy, he still goes to see his shrink! Fuck, I drove him just the other day,” Waylon was running his fingers through his greasy blond hair. He really needed a shower. He still reeked of sex. “Eddie's a model parolee, he said. He hasn't dated anyone since all that happened. This is his first time. It's new, and he's so...damaged Lisa, and I...fuck, God help me, I am...falling. So hard.”

“What? You can't be serious. You...” Lisa's voice was rising now, growing frantic. “It took you _three years of dating_ before you admitted that you loved me. Another five before we were engaged. And yet you fuck this guy one time and you're _in love_??”

“God Lisa,” Waylon bent over putting is elbows on his knees and face in his hands. “Can we focus on one problem at a time.”

“I'm tired. I had a long night at work. And another shift tonight. Deal with your own shit,” spat Lisa, standing up and going into her own room. The door shut louder than necessary, making Waylon flinch. 

Thus began the worst week of Waylon's life. The bad part about being in business for yourself is that while you are free to take a day off anytime you want, that means your shop and livelihood are sitting empty and forgotten. Waylon pulled himself in to work and was not surprised to see Eddie waiting in the window of his own shop. He rushed out to meet Waylon before he could make it into his own store.

“Waylon, can we talk. Please,” Eddie's tone was pleading, though he kept his posture and mannerisms normal to not draw attention from anyone walking through the shopping complex. 

“Not right now.”

“I need you to know how truly, honestly, horribly terrible I feel darling and I just, oh your eye, darling...” the tailor sounded distraught. 

“Eddie,” Waylon said, unlocking his store and giving a long sigh. He couldn't meet the man's too-blue eyes. “I need some time to think. And I can't do that clearly when you are around. You cloud my judgment. Can you please respect that?”

There was a pause. A long pause filled with the ambient noise of the parking lot—wind, birds, and passing traffic. Finally, “Of course, darling. You know where I'll be.”

Waylon waited at his door, not moving, until he heard the jingle of a bell that told him Eddie had gone back into his tailor's shop. 

There were quite a few service calls and orders for parts. Waylon told the customers he could deliver them, instead of asking them to come into the store. That way he could get away for a while and keep doing his work. Maybe Lisa was right and he should have just gotten a PT Cruiser. 

No, wait, what was he thinking? No way in hell.

Other times Waylon patrolled the tenants, offering his tech services. Spending more time in the church, butcher's shop, and chiropractor's office only helped reinforce in his mind that he really disliked those guys. Eddie contacted him with a legitimate issue having to do with his website. Waylon came over and fixed the problem, keeping everything professional and forcing Eddie to stay at arm's length. He had waited until he knew there would be a customer in the office. The bride had seemed really annoyed when her tailor kept getting distracted from the dress fitting by staring longingly at the sloppily dressed tech guy. 

Some days there were notes in that script Waylon so readily recognized. “I'm sorry.” “I miss you.” “Darling.” Waylon clutched them close to his chest, knowing he could not put off the horrible talk much longer. 

He still had no idea what to do. Waylon had always thought in his mind that if a partner abused another in a relationship, it was over. That's it. No second chances. Once an abuser, always an abuser. And Eddie already had a history of extreme abuse, so maybe getting into any kind of relationship with him had been a mistake in the first place. But then there was his dumb, stupid heart that felt like it would break every time he considered telling Eddie he was through. So maybe he should give Eddie another chance? At least he needed to hear out his excuse for slapping him.

His already foul mood was made worse by another visit from Blaire. 

“Park. Company needs you to run more of those tests that you did before. Same deal. Same pay. Need it done by the end of the week. You can handle that right? Or are you too busy,” Jeremy asked, pulling down his sunglasses and staring around the obviously empty shop. “No, I didn't think so.”

“Fine. I'll get it done,” Waylon grumbled. Anything to get that prick back out of his store. 

“I know you will. You're good at following orders, aren't you Park? I heard you were spending a lot more time out with the tenants. Making friends? Asking questions?”

“I was just trying to do my job...” grumbled Waylon.

“Yeah well, do as you're told; stop showing so much initiative. This place basically runs itself. Keep your eyes on your own problems. And that non-disclosure agreement you signed is still in effect. No talking outside the complex about these tests. It's top secret.”

And with that, Blaire was gone. Waylon rolled his eyes. Who on earth would care about a few routine security tests? Well, maybe Miles Upshur but that guy obviously had a few loose screws. 

Things were tense with Lisa until one night when Waylon returned late in the evening and found her passed out on the couch, a mostly empty bottle of cheap red wine and a stained plastic cup nearby. He sighed and went to cover her with a blanket, causing something in her hand to dislodge and flutter to the floor. Waylon picked it up and recognized it immediately. It was an invitation to their wedding that had been printed out, paid for, and never mailed. He'd forgotten that this would have been the week of their wedding. There were obvious wet stains from tears marring the careful calligraphy print. 

Waylon sometimes felt strange that he was having to come out as a different sexuality to all of his friends and family—yet Lisa was having the harder time with their break-up. Waylon loved her so much. He dedicated himself to making Lisa's life better and to stop putting her feelings about their broken engagement behind his own feelings.

By the time Friday came, Waylon was frazzled from finishing the Murkoff tech work and heart sick over Eddie.

“And that's why we're going out,” said Lisa. She was wearing a tight mini-dress unlike anything she had worn when they dated. Her thick brown hair was straightened and styled and she was wearing more make-up than usual. Well, good for her. Lisa needed to get back out there. 

“I don't feel like it,” Waylon complained, hoping against hope she might still decide they should go see a movie instead.

“I don't care what you feel like, we're doing it. You can't come out as gay, then get all emo about the first dude that looks at you sideways. There's a whole world of hot dudes out there looking for male on male action. We just gotta find them.”

It was like some kind of nightmare. Waylon had always been more introverted and Lisa was not usually the club type of girl. But that Friday night, she picked out his outfit, messed his hair up perfectly, and sprayed him with cologne. Waylon looked himself over in the mirror of their bathroom, frowning at the tight fitting black tee and distressed blue jeans.

“I look different,” said Waylon.

“That's the idea,” Lisa griped, swatting him playfully before ushering him out the door of the apartment.

Lisa drove in her Honda so that Waylon could drink. Usually he could open up to just about anyone after a few drinks.

Waylon actually tried to feel optimistic about going out with his friend for some drinks, until they arrived at their destination. The Manhole was a prominent gay club in town. They had somehow made a theme out of exposed brick and pipes, calling it sewage chic. It was so loud inside that Waylon could barely hear himself think. Lisa was laughing as all the men flirted with her, showering her outfit with compliments, and asking about her friend. 

“That's Waylon. He's shy,” she grinned deviously at her ex-fiance.

Oh Fuck. Waylon needed to get out of there. He was finishing up his second cheap beer when he spotted a familiar face in the crowd. 

“Miles!” Waylon called out over the ridiculously loud bass. “Miles!!”

The reporter was standing near the bar holding a plastic cup filled with some kind of brown liquid. His brown hair was especially attractive that night and he was wearing a tight fitting red shirt over some dark denim jeans and a studded belt. He looked around as he heard his name being called.

“Park!” Miles smiled lazily as he sauntered over to where Waylon was standing holding his empty beer and waiting on his third. The bartender delivered it with an obvious wink that had Waylon chuckling nervously. “Look who's out away from the complex. What's the occasion?”

“Oh uh, just out with my friend,” said Waylon, gesturing with his beer toward where Lisa was dancing between two men in leotards, one dressed like an angel the other a devil. Waylon was fairly sure they worked at the club.

“Huh,” said Miles, taking a sip of his drink. “I thought you were with Gluskin?”

“How do you...what makes you...”

“Chris Walker, the security guard. He told me he caught you guys, and I must stress these are his words not mine, 'making out and grabbing ass like a couple of queers' the other day,” said Miles, his face neutral and tone flat. 

“Oh,” Waylon said, chugging his beer for a few seconds to wash out the taste of embarrassment. “I didn't know you were gay,” Waylon said, looking at Miles. He'd always found the reporter rather attractive.

“Oh, I'm not, sorry to disappoint,” Miles said, shrugging with a smirk. “My friend is. I'm his wing man tonight. I'd offer to introduce you, but he's been in the bathroom with some other guy for going on forty minutes now. He's either feeling very ill, or riding home separately tonight.”

“Ah. Yeah,” Waylon said, desperate to change the subject. “Lisa is my wingman. Wing woman. She's a friend.”

“You're so charming, all the boys will be lined up pretty soon Park,” Miles said, draining the last of the liquid in his plastic cup and setting it down on the bar. “You're smart to get away from Gluskin. That guy's bad news.”

“I know. You keep telling me. He has a past. He's done his time. He's different now.”

“What little I can find about it puts those crimes way up there on the fucked-up meter. Women so damaged, insides all fucked up, one of them was sterilized from something he did. None of them wanted to press charges either. All of them fucking horrified of this guy. And then he beats one of them into a coma, she dies, and suddenly the State has a case and puts him away.”

“Jesus fuck,” Waylon exhaled. “That's...slightly more fucked up than I would have expected. I knew it was some kind of domestic abuse, but...”

“Yeah, he went to a hospital rather than life in prison because of his childhood. I mean, sure any criminal can claim how fucked up their life was growing up, but Eddie Gluskin's mom had pictures. That she took. Pedo father and uncle double teamed him all his life and his mom photographed it. She was being abused too. Claims she was forced into it. I mean, poor bastard, but still. Shit like that creates monsters....”

Waylon suddenly had zero desire to be out at a club, or anywhere really. He wished he was home in his room so he could pull his knees up and cry. Eddie had truly come from a torturous place, and it had twisted him into something terrifying, and somehow...by some miracle...Eddie was half way normal. He was a talented tailor and ran a successful building. And maybe Eddie wasn't perfect. Maybe the slap had been a reaction, a flashback. There was such an overwhelming flood of love and empathy rising in Waylon. He needed to leave. 

But Miles was still jabbering on to himself. Lisa sauntered over after the angel and devil started making out and ignoring her. Waylon introduced her to Miles and the two were soon flirting heavily. Waylon sat at the bar drinking water. He sobered up considerably, and obsessed over Eddie. 

He barely noticed when Lisa walked over and shook his shoulder. “Way! I'm talking to you!”

“Oh, sorry Lis,” he mumbled, turning around and seeing for the first time that Lisa was standing in her micro dress with Mile's arm around her waist. “What's up?”

“Miles and I are going to go and grab some coffee...would you mind driving my car home?” Lisa asked, biting her bottom lip. Oh wow. So this is what it felt like watching your ex-fiance take to another person. Waylon grinned at how strange it was. Good for Lisa.

“Yeah, no problem,” Waylon smiled as she handed him the keys to her Honda. “See you in the morning, Lis.”

“Thank you,” she mouthed silently as she was led away by Miles.

At least Waylon could finally get out of that horrible club. He got into the car and before he even realized it, he was standing outside of the tailor shop at one in the morning on a Friday—wait Saturday. He definitely wasn't drunk, but he was dizzy with something else. He banged on the glass and waited. He peered through the windows and bars, watching as a light flicked on at the top of the darkened staircase that led to Eddie's apartment. He banged again and waited.

The sound of several locks being undone. The door opened with its usual chime of a bell. And then, Eddie. 

“Waylon,” he said, standing up straight wearing a white tank and black silk pajama pants. His hair looked freshly washed and fell into his eyes, black slashes in front of electric blue. His body was tense, like he was afraid to move.

“Eddie,” Waylon replied before launching himself at the tailor. There was no hesitation on Eddie's part. The two started to kiss and claw at one another like two desperate animals. Teeth clacked together, slurping wet noises, and bodies grinding into one another. 

“Quickly, inside before that damn security guard catches us again...” Eddie murmured against Waylon's lips.

And just like that, the two men were making out and stumbling toward the stairs. Waylon cursed as he fought to get out of his skinny jeans. Eddie sucked and bit so fervently at Waylon's neck that they were having trouble making it to the bedroom. 

Finally, they fell into the bed, naked, and started the slow process of touching and kissing every inch of one another. Waylon felt amazing. He finally had Eddie back in his arms. And Eddie was kissing him and touching him like some kind of precious treasure. Waylon was thankful that he had left behind the lube that day, when Eddie reached pulled it out of the drawer and began the process of slowly preparing him for further pleasure. 

When Eddie finally sheathed himself in Waylon's heat, their eyes met and they shared several heartbeats just being connected as one. Eddie leaned down and kissed him, each movement of his lips conveying such tenderness and feeling that Waylon wasn't sure he could keep himself from tearing up—and not from the pain. There was discomfort, but it was a small price to pay to be this close to Eddie.

It was a slow, sensual grind that the two men developed. Eddie took Waylon's length in hand and worked his large hand up and down as he continued his steady, slow thrusts. It was such a gradual build. Waylon could feel his body covered with sweat, writhing on the satin sheets of Eddie's bed. He knew he would not last much longer. 

“Eddie,” came a broken whisper as Waylon's body fought to push back on Eddie's cock while simultaneously pushing up into his hand.

“Waylon, I'm so sorry, I never...” Eddie leaned down, pressing his forehead against Waylon's while he thrust and stroked. 

“Shh,” Waylon said, feeling himself tightening. “I don't....Eddie I...” His orgasm snapped so quickly he was left moaning incoherently as he spilled all over Eddie's grasping fingers and hand. The sight and sounds of his climax brought Eddie to a shuddering halt as well and Waylon felt the flood of liquid against his insides. They held together for several minutes, panting and holding one another. When Eddie finally withdrew with a wet squelch, the two men lay on their backs staring at the ceiling and breathing hard. 

“I fucked up, Waylon. I can't afford to do that ever again,” Eddie's voice was low but steady. “I don't want to lose you.”

“I want to be with you,” Waylon said, eyes trained on the ceiling, afraid to glance over at Eddie. The tailor pushed up on his elbows and leaned over to look down at Waylon, though the tech continued to avoid his blue eyed gaze.

“Oh darling...” Eddie kissed Waylon on the cheek, inhaling the scent of his sweaty lover. “That's what I want as well.”

There was more to talk about, but it was already close to two and they were entirely too content to ruin such a perfect moment.


	11. Important Details

“Where the hell is my car?!?” It was a valid question that Lisa had texted. Waylon woke up, groaning at his vibrating phone dancing around on the nightstand. Eddie rolled over and pulled him in closer, kissing his blond hair.

“Darling, you smell like hair product, cigarettes, and shame. Where were you last night?”

“The Manhole. Don't ask,” Waylon said, rubbing his hands over his scruffy face. He needed to shower and brush his teeth like he needed air to breathe. He sighed and rolled over to face Eddie. His black hair was falling into his eyes, somehow making him even more handsome. “So what happened, Eddie?”

“I've been to see my doctor twice this past week. It's all so confusing. I haven't had a single physical outburst in over ten years. It felt so strange, I wasn't even thinking when I reacted. I think it had to do with...well, where you touched me.”

“Oh,” Waylon breathed, considering what Eddie had said. Right before the slap, Waylon had been hoping to initiate sex where he could be the one giving. “I guess I did not think of that.”

“How could you have known, darling?” Eddie said, kissing Waylon's again and wrinkling his nose at the smell. “I know I told you my childhood was traumatic. But particularly, I was raped, by close family members,” he said it like stating a fact, though his eyes looked sad. “My abusers taunted me that they were going to turn me gay by their actions.”

Waylon had heard the same information from Miles, but it was heartbreaking to hear Eddie talk about it himself. “That is fucked up on so many levels, Eddie. No one can turn you gay. I mean, I don't think they can. I have always been gay.”

“There's too much fucked up in my past for me to even know what I am or am not,” Eddie sighed. “Years of therapy have helped, but nothing can erase.”

“They weren't right. What they did to you, is not right, no matter your sexual orientation. And saying that to you was fucked up. Those people were wrong. Plain and simple. And it has nothing to do with us, here and now,” Waylon reached for one of Eddie's hands and thread their fingers together. “I'm sorry I pushed you. I probably should have talked about it with you before I...well...”

“Please, do not blame yourself. I should not have had that type of reaction. Therapy helps, but...I do not want it to be this way. I want to be able to give you everything you want,” Eddie squeezed Waylon's hand and met his eyes as though trying to convey his desires. 

“My first experiences with sex were as some kind of shameful punishment. I believed sex should be painful. Power was the only reason to engage in any kind of bedroom play,” Eddie said, bringing their entwined fingers to his lips to kiss Waylon's hand. “That type of thinking led me to hurting women. I didn't have time to even wonder if I was attracted to them. I just knew what to do to them to make myself feel stronger. And after all these years of working through those mistakes and problems, I thought I would live a rather asexual existence. Mostly because I still find myself repulsed by the idea of intimacy with women.”

Eddie paused, his face becoming pensive. “I couldn't have imagined a sexual relationship like ours. But I met you and everything happened so naturally, and it felt so...right. I'm sorry I did not tell you. I should have been more open with you about my issues.”

“We both need to be a lot more open and honest about what we want,” Waylon nodded. He did really desire to have that type of physical relationship with Eddie, but he could understand that it would take time and work. Waylon would never push. 

“Agreed,” Eddie smiled shyly, reaching out to gently tuck a few unruly blond hairs behind Waylon's ear.

“So on that note, I feel I should get something off _my_ chest...” Waylon said, suddenly looking nervous.

“Anything, darling...”

“Well. Sometimes when we are being intimate, you tend to say some rather,” Waylon paused for a moment, pursing his lips, “creative things. And I can't lie, it definitely turns my crank. But I do just want to talk to you and make sure you realize that I am not a woman.”

“Of course, darling. It was your dick that first tipped me off.”

“No, I'm serious,” laughed Waylon. “Dresses, lingerie, and telling me you want me to have your babies? You do realize I can't have babies, right?”

“Of course. I'm sorry, being in a relationship with a man is just new to me,” Eddie admitted, a sheepish grin on his handsome face.

“Me too. You're my first,” Waylon smiled back. He couldn't stop himself from reaching up to smooth some of those stray black locks away from Eddie's eyes. Waylon had to fall in love with his first.

“After years of working through my problems with women, I suppose I never considered that maybe I was so dissatisfied when them because I was interested in something else entirely...” Eddie said, sliding his hand down Waylon's naked side and stopping to grip his hip bone under the blankets. “I like that you are a man. I have so many hang ups. You're a young, sweet, handsome man Waylon. You could do much better than me.”

Waylon made a scoffing noise and leaned forward to place a kiss on Eddie's chest, just above his heart. “I consider myself very lucky to have found such a talented, sexy guy who's willing to give a clumsy virgin like me a chance.”

“You were hardly a virgin, darling,” smirked Eddie. “I don't believe your ex-fiance would remain so enamored if you two had never been intimate.”

“Yeah well,” Waylon could feel his cheeks going red. “It's an ongoing joke how unsatisfying all of that was for both of us. We work the best as friends.”

“A pity. I find myself very satisfied with you. And since we are being honest,” Eddie started, clearing his throat, “I know you are a male, but I still find myself very much desiring to see you dressed in silks. I had made you a present. Overly hopeful possibly that you would return some day. Wishful thinking at the time, but now that you are here...”

“Honestly, wearing the things you sew me is a huge turn on...” Waylon admitted. “I like it.”

“Great, then I hope you'll wear it for me soon,” Eddie's smile deepened into something more mischievous. “Oh and darling, this time, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind shaving?”

Waylon's hand flew to his chin. He definitely had a few days worth of growth there and Eddie was always so smooth shaven. “Of course, Eddie.”

“Not there, darling,” he said with a sinful gleam in his eye.

-x-x-x-

Waylon returned Lisa's car to their apartment and immediately had to submit to questioning.

“So who did you go home with last night?” she inquired with an arch of her manicured brow.

“I uh, didn't, I actually went to see...”

“Figures,” Lisa said, drinking her coffee with a sarcastic roll of her eyes. “At least there's no new bruises this time.”

“It's complicated, Lis. I trust him not to hurt me again. It was unexpected for both of us. Anyways, what about you,” Waylon grinned deviously. “Miles Upshur stayed overnight?”

Lisa's face turned the most adorable shade of red. It was precious. “Maybe.”

“Did you two have sex?” Waylon pressed.

“Maybe,” she looked down at her coffee letting her brown hair fall forward to curtain the embarrassed smile on her face.

“You know that guy's a nut job,” Waylon grinned. “He seems nice enough, but he's always harassing me over at the complex. Claims there's some kind of conspiracy going on with the chemical company at the far end of the shopping center. Wants me to break all sorts of company policies and get him some classified information. Which could get me fired, sued, or worse.”

“Oh, we didn't talk much about that,” Lisa admitted, grinning. “I mean, once we got back here, we barely talked at all.”

“I'm glad you got some, Lis,” grinned Waylon. “Miles is pretty good looking.”

“Hey! Stay away from my man,” laughed Lisa. Waylon just rolled his eyes. 

“I work tonight, but I am seeing him again this week. He wants to date me. I don't think it was just a one-night-stand,” Lisa's face was hopeful and beaming.

“That's awesome Lis. I'm very happy for you,” Waylon said. And it was true. There was no part of him that wanted a relationship with Lisa anymore, and having her happy was the best way for her to move on. For both of them to move on. 

Saturday was always a busy day for Eddie. So many weddings happen on the weekend. Brides running in last minute, bridesmaids crying because they gained too much weight, and last minute debutantes invited to formal events needing their designer gowns altered. Waylon was used to doing his own thing on Saturdays to give his lover space to run his business. 

It was difficult though. Waylon had a wrapped gift from Eddie in his desk drawer at his shop. He didn't know what was in it yet, but he knew it would be something scandalous. He'd also stopped by the drugstore and picked up a twelve-pack of pink razors. Waylon wasn't sure if they needed to be pink to shave a man's leg, but he decided to go with them to be safe. He also had his electric trimmer and some shaving cream. He knew he couldn't do the prep at home. There was no way he was explaining to Lisa why there was a metric ton of man hair clogging up the bathroom drain. No. He would have to shave upstairs in the unused apartment bathtub. 

His daydreams of making himself hairless for Eddie were disrupted by the sound of sirens turning into the Mount Massive Complex. Waylon ran outside and quickly saw flames licking the sky from the shop closest to Murkoff Chemical. The church? The church. The church was on fire!

“Wait!! No! Are you fucking crazy!?!?!” Waylon heard a panicked voice in the distance.

Waylon ran closer just in time to see a fire extinguisher being thrown from somewhere almost inside the flames. A figure outlined against the fire slowly and calmly walked back into the burning building.

And the person that had screamed and dodged the fire extinguisher. “Miles,” Waylon cried, rushing to the man. For once his brown hair laid flat and wet from sweat, soot smudged his features and his clothing was crumpled and dirty. His camcorder was trained on the burning building.

“Park. Holy shit, Park!”

“What are you doing here, Miles? The fire department is here! They're going to think you set the goddamn fire. I mean, did you...” Firemen were rushing into position now. Hoses were being brought off of trucks, orders were being shouted, and people rushed about in the confusion. 

“Did I set the church on fire? Fuck no, what's wrong with you, Park? The priest did it. He set _himself_ on fire. Oh God, I think he wanted to be reincarnated or something. Fuck. There were others in there with him. At least one of them...he,” Miles' voice trailed off as he watched the scene through the lens of his camcorder. “He wanted to burn. Murkoff fucked his brain so badly, he wanted to _burn_ to death Park. Can you fucking imagine?”

The scene was dramatic with the flames licking into the air and the hoses raining down water from the hydrants nearby. 

“There were people inside! We have to get men in there,” barked a fireman as he ran by the area where Miles and Waylon were standing.

“Don't bother,” Miles muttered under his breath. “They're already lost.”

Waylon coughed from the smoke that was quickly filling the area. It was slightly less acrid than the chemical stench that would often pollute the air in the shopping complex. All of the shop owners were outside now, watching the commotion—except for Eddie. A group of men in fire-retardant gear ran into the flames on a pointless rescue mission.

Miles and Waylon sat in stunned silence until a black Mercedes pulled into the parking spot between them and the fire. Jeremy Blaire stepped out in his usual black suit and tie. “Gentlemen,” Jeremy said, striding toward where the two men stood. “Nothing to see here. Back to your shop, Park. And Mr. Upshur, I do believe you are trespassing.”

“How can I be trespassing on public property? This is a shopping center!” Miles argued, camcorder swiveling to focus on Jeremy's angry face.

“You know why you're trespassing. You're a danger to our tenants and customers, Upshur. We can't have crazy conspiracy theorists roaming the streets trying to hack into our company's data to sell to foreign competitors,” Jeremy was talking so calm and smooth, as though there was not a burning strip-mall church behind him with burnt bodies inside.

“Fuck you Blaire!” spat Miles.

“Walker,” Jeremy called, gesturing towards someone over Waylon's shoulder. It was the security guard that had caught him and Eddie making out those times before. “Escort Mr. Upshur off the premise, won't you?”

The large man grunted in response and moved to put a giant, meaty hand on Miles' arm. 

“What? You can't do this, I'm with the press. I have a right to cover a breaking news story. There's a fire happening behind you man! Or is your head so far up your own dickhole you can't see that?”

“Better yet, take him over to those officers near the gate, Walker. Make sure they get a very thorough account of where Mr. Upshur was when this fire started. He should be considered a suspect.”

Miles was fighting and struggling uselessly against the colossus. “Let go of me, you fucking pig! You're not a cop! Dishonorable discharge, right “Officer” Walker?” Miles' complaints faded into the general commotion of the parking lot as the security guard led him away by the arm. 

Jeremy was walking calmly toward a fire marshal's vehicle. He turned to Waylon as though an after thought, “Back to your shop, Park. Nothing to see here.”

Waylon started to walk backwards slowly. Jeremy was wrong. There was something to see there. Not only was the church burning, but the shaved headed boy he'd seen the day he went to the church on a service call was lurking near the fire trucks, staring at the flames with a sad look on his face. At least someone had escaped the inferno. Waylon walked back toward his shop and closed the door, locking it. There wouldn't be any customers today. 

Miles' theories had seemed so outlandish. So unrealistic. And yet, now people in the shopping center had gone crazy enough to set themselves on fire. Was it some kind of message to the public to draw attention to Murkoff? Or was it just some crazy person's religion gone awry? 

Miles said that Father Martin wasn't a priest. Maybe he was some kind of cult leader out to enforce a suicide pact. Stranger things had happened. And why was Jeremy Blaire the biggest asshole in the entire world? He didn't care about those people that were dead. All he cared about was sealing off the scene and painting it in a way that did not make Murkoff seem at fault in any way. But was Murkoff at fault? How?

It was all so strange, and it gave Waylon a worse headache than when the fumes got bad outside. They had brought all these people with criminal records and past connections to Murkoff. They put them together in this run-down shopping complex. There are strange smells. Paranoid levels of security about their tenants and business. Something was definitely strange. Maybe it was time to help Miles out, after all. Waylon could at least do a little digging on his own to sate his curiosity. 

Except the internet was down. Something to do with the fire and all the emergency personnel probably. It was a problem for another day. 

Waylon texted Lisa to let her know that he was alright and find out what the news had to say about the fire in the Mount Massive Shopping Complex. He mentioned that Miles may or may not be at the police station being interrogated for arson. She called in a panic, but Miles beeped in while they were talking. She flashed back over to ensure Waylon that Miles was released and not a suspect. At least that was a relief.

A hot bath was just the thing he needed to forget about all the horrible commotion. The emergency personnel were finally gone, but the entire church was roped off with enough yellow tape that it was probably visible from space. That was going to be great for business. He could just imagine himself giving directions to potential customers: “Oh sure ma'am, that's a right on Main, a left on Oak, and then it'll be on your left, just look for the smoldering remains of a church roped off with police tape. Can't miss it.”

Waylon focused instead on a problem he could tackle. He filled the tub with hot water and set out all of his tools. Once he was sitting in the tub he felt strange rubbing shaving cream on his leg and starting to shave. He had also grossly underestimated how much hair was on his body. For the better part of an hour, Waylon shaved his feet, calves, thighs, and intimate areas. Eddie had not specified whether he wanted his balls smooth shaven but Waylon decided just to assume all of it had to go. 

The water was murky with hair. He would have to clean that up later. Seriously, Waylon never wanted anyone to see that. It was an after thought that he shaved his face. Finally, he was as smooth as he was capable of being. And he had only nicked himself three times. Thankfully, none of them were on his jewels. 

He looked at the wrapped box he had brought up into the storage area. No time like the present, he decided. Waylon pulled off the delicate paper and opened the gift. The first thing he noticed was the delicate beading hand sewn around the top seam of the garment. The fabric was white and sewn to resemble a corset, complete with ribbons laced up along the back, but the material was stretchy. Waylon knew it would hug him comfortably, like a silken hug. At least Eddie wasn't strapping him into a real corset. Yet. A short, white tulle skirt extended from the bottom, and a pair of white satin panties completed the look. 

Waylon tried it on. The lingerie slid on easier over his hairless thighs. The feeling of his smooth skin against the silky fabric was enticing. Waylon got hard just imagining Eddie pulling them off of him with his teeth. He dared a glance in the mirror. He looked like a man—in a dress. 

What was it about dressing up that turned him on? The material felt nice. The fact that it seemed to drive Eddie crazy was another serious consideration. But more than that, it was nice to dress up and just...escape. He didn't have to be an awkward tech guy, he didn't have to deal with what could be happening around the complex, and he didn't have to think about much of anything. He could just lose himself and...enjoy. Why did he need a reason to do what he enjoyed, anyways. People have kinks. Otherwise the internet would be a lot smaller. Waylon couldn't stop rubbing his hands along his body, smiling at himself in the mirror. 

He couldn't wait to show Eddie.

It was slightly difficult to conceal the puffy skirt in his jeans, but thanks to his shirt being roomy it was almost undetectable. Well, almost. Eddie would know, but he would know anyways. Their secret. Waylon couldn't keep a smile off his face as he locked up the shop and went next door.

Eddie seemed distracted when he walked in the door. When he glanced up and spied Waylon he quickly rushed to his side. “Darling. I was downstairs sewing through all the commotion. Are you well?”

“I'm fine,” Waylon said, leaning in to kiss Eddie on the cheek. “You're cute when you worry though. It was such a fucked up situation.”

“I was using the internet,” Eddie said, gesturing toward the computer. “Reporters are saying it was user error with some of the vagrants that rely on the church. Not reporting any loss of life.”

“Really? The net was down earlier. And besides, that's wrong, there was definite loss of life,” Waylon muttered, walking over to the computer. Eddie wasn't the best with technology—maybe he had made a mistake. But Eddie was telling the truth. There was no word about Murkoff owning the building, the unsanctioned priest, or the burnt bodies. “I don't even know what this means. If I think on it too much it'll just give me another headache.”

Eddie frowned at that, running a hand through Waylon's messy blond hair. “We can't have that, darling.” Waylon moved away from the computer and had to awkwardly adjust himself. The underwear were not the most comfortable for his male bits. Eddie's eyes lit up when he noticed. “Are you dressed up for me, Waylon?”

The two men shared a private smile. “Only for you, Eddie.”

Eddie did not ask permission before roughly pulling up Waylon's shirt and peeking underneath. “Oh darling...” he moaned. “I need to see you.” He continued pulling the shirt and Waylon shrugged out of the garment. He adjusted the top of his tube top underneath to ensure his nipples were covered. Eddie chuckled at his modesty, but he did not stop there. Eddie roughly grabbed the fly of Waylon's jeans and wasted no time undoing the button and zipper, relishing the way Waylon's breath hitched in a desperate, whining sound. Eddie pushed the jeans down, hands sliding along Waylon's legs as he did.

“Silky smooth,” purred Eddie, kneeling before Waylon as he stepped out of the pants. “Like a little girl again. Look at you. You're beautiful.” Eddie carefully adjusted the tulle, and slid his hand over the different types of fabric—soft, silky, rough. He couldn't keep his hands away from Waylon's smooth legs for long. “You shaved for me.”

“You asked me to,” Waylon breathed, enjoying the way Eddie was looking up at him, like he was some kind of treasure.

“Did you shave everywhere, darling?”

Waylon nodded, unable to speak over how dry his throat had become. He especially couldn't speak when Eddie pressed his mouth against the front of his satin panties, lips mapping out the barely contained erection within. Waylon thought his knees might give out, until Eddie stood up and took his hand.

“Follow me, darling,” said Eddie, his voice like dark velvet. He tugged on Waylon's hand and led him to the dais in the dress shop where three mirrors reflected the subject from all angles. Eddie stood in the middle facing the mirrors and slid Waylon in front of him. He slid an arm around Waylon's waist, looking into Waylon's eyes through his reflection in the mirror. “Just look at you, Waylon.”

Waylon wasn't sure how beautiful he actually looked, standing barefoot with his awkward male figure wearing a mock corset and tutu. But that didn't matter. The fiery look in Eddie's eyes made it worth it, and the sensation of silky fabric against his skin set Waylon's flesh ablaze. Eddie bent to kiss along Waylon's bare neck and Waylon stood helpless, watching in the many reflections as Eddie devoured his skin and fondled his body. 

Large hands toyed with the corset top, pulling it just below Waylon's nipples before teasing them into small tan peaks. Another hand drifted to Waylon's smooth thighs, traveling up slowly until Eddie was groping him through the panties. Waylon's hands flew up behind him to hold onto Eddie's neck, keeping him close. The feel of his lover panting against his neck and hair was too much. Waylon groaned when Eddie released his cock from its satin prison. 

Waylon thought he looked like a stranger in the mirror. His skin was flushed all over, eyes half shut, corseted chest rising rapidly. Pitiful, broken sounds poured from his open lips as Eddie took him in hand and worked his shaft. Eddie did not rush. No, he savored the experience, paying close attention to the types of movements and touches that made his lover tense the most. His blue eyes were dilated as he watched Waylon's reactions in the mirrors. “You're loving this, you filthy slut.” Waylon moaned, feeling as though he would lose his balance if it weren't for Eddie's strong presence behind him, bolstering him up while breaking him down at the same time with his insistent stroking. 

“Eddie...” Waylon couldn't help it, he moaned his lover's name as a type of plea. He knew he was on the brink of losing control right on Eddie's storeroom dais. The tailor did not seem to mind. If anything, he took the moan as a good sign and continued his ministrations, licking and biting all along the hot skin of Waylon's neck. 

Waylon's hands reached behind, grabbing for any part of Eddie he could reach. His orgasm tore through him violently, leaving Waylon shuddering and groaning as he fought to maintain his upright position. Hot seed spilled over Eddie's persistent hand, some shooting onto the showroom floor or dribbling down onto the satin underwear. 

He was still in shock, panting and leaning back against Eddie, when he was suddenly jerked down to the floor and pushed forward onto his hands and knees. Panic briefly flared in his mind as he thought about the necessary preparations. Eddie wouldn't hurt him, right? The sweaty, stained panties were pulled down to above his knees and Eddie wiped his sticky, wet hand between Waylon's thighs. 

“I want to fuck you just here today,” Eddie groaned, his hand withdrawing from between Waylon's thighs. “There will be plenty of other times to plant my seed within you, darling.”

In the mirror, Waylon watched Eddie free himself from his trousers while remaining dressed. He positioned his cock between Waylon's slippery thighs and pushed his legs together. Eddie immediately started with a rough pace that rattled Waylon's teeth and made him clutch helplessly at the carpet with his fingers. 

Watching Eddie fuck him in the several mirrored reflections was something akin to listening to porn in surround sound. Waylon could not tear his eyes away from Eddie's face as his eyes closed and his head dropped back while he continued to pound incessantly between Waylon's thighs. Eddie's hands on his legs were bruising as they forced Waylon's legs to make a tight place for Eddie to push inside. Waylon soon could not hold himself upright and ended up with his face against the carpet. He took every punishing thrust and moaned at the sound of flesh slapping together that mingled with Eddie's strangled moans. Soon, Waylon felt proof of Eddie's orgasm shoot along his clothed stomach and then soak his well-used thighs. 

Waylon felt slightly abashed at what a mess he was, especially considering it was being reflected a thousand times from every angle right in front of his face. Eddie was only smiling a deep, satisfied grin at his lover. “I believe this may be my favorite dress on you, yet.”

“Too bad I probably can't wear it again,” Waylon muttered, looking down at the stains they had caused. He gave a tired chuckle as he noticed somewhere in the desperate thrusting the tulle skirt had become ripped as well. 

Eddie pulled Waylon close against him, and kissed him with so much heat and passion that Waylon felt his entire body burn from the impact. “The way you turn me on...It's unbelievable, Waylon. I've never felt this way about anyone before.”

“I think I may be feeling the same way,” said Waylon, “about you I mean.”

After they were cleaned up, the two men heated up some left over stew in Eddie's apartment. 

“You're sure you can't stay the night, darling?”

“I want to,” Waylon said, blowing on a spoon full of broth. “But after the fire and everything, Lisa's probably freaking out. And besides, I need to have a serious conversation with her. Better sooner than later.”

“That sounds like fun,” Eddie deadpanned, putting down his empty bowl and soup near the apartment sink. “Whatever about?”

“Moving out,” Waylon said nonchalantly.

Eddie's eyebrows were lifted when he turned back to look at his lover. “I didn't know you were moving.”

“The lease on our old apartment is almost up. She's...dating someone,” Waylon said, unsure how Eddie would take the news that it was the annoying reporter. “And I'm dating someone. So it's just getting even more awkward. And besides, I have a place to stay above the shop. I'll just move over some furniture. You don't need to worry about relocating your stuff if that's your concern. I don't have much furniture I can easily just...”

“Stay with me,” Eddie said, his tone quiet and serious. Waylon stopped mid-bite and looked over at Eddie. Was he serious? “Stay with me, Waylon. At least until you are settled. Is that moving too fast?”

“I uhh,” Waylon took a few bites of the stew as he considered the offer. He finally swallowed and nodded at Eddie. “I think that would work. Let me think it over and then we'll hammer out the details.”

“Details?” Eddie grinned. 

“Yeah, what kinda rent I would pay, where I keep my stuff, who gets to sleep on what side of the bed. You know. Important details.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, tags are getting updated to reflect what's coming up so you can bail if you don't like it. And a fair warning, the "plot" kinda pushes to the forefront for the next few chapters so apologies in advance. Thanks for reading!


	12. Own You

Kissing Eddie was so relaxing and enjoyable, it made it almost impossible for Waylon to leave the bed and finally return to his apartment he shared with Lisa. 

“I'm a little surprised to see you. Not out with Miles?” Waylon asked as he walked in, set down his keys, and joined Lisa on the couch.

“He's in super work mode about this fire. He says the news isn't covering it right. He says there is some kind of cover-up happening. He's a really...passionate guy, when it comes to his work,” Lisa said.

“That's putting it mildly. The first few times I met him, I thought he was one of those delusional people who believed in alien abductions and Bigfoot,” Waylon said, and Lisa just gave him a smirk. “I'm starting to think he's not that way now, but at first. You know.” Waylon tried to grab for the remote to change it off of whatever trash reality television Lisa had it on, but she was too quick and pulled it out of reach. “So are you and him going to get serious you think?”

“Maybe,” said Lisa in a singsong voice with an exaggerated flutter of her eyelashes. “Why? Did he say something about me?”

“What? No, I only talked to him today during the whole fire fiasco. He was...” Haunted? Disturbed? Livid? “Distracted,” he finished, lamely. “So anyways. We need to talk Lis. I know the end of the lease is coming up, but I think I am going to move out some of my furniture early. Start sleeping over at the shop.”

“Things are that serious with Eddie, huh?” she asked, suddenly more interested in the reality soap-opera of Waylon's life than the television women who were slapping each other for some reason. 

“They...might be, yeah,” Waylon smiled. “I really like him.”

“He feels the same way?” Lisa asked.

“He...yeah, I think he does,” Waylon nodded, avoiding her blue eyed gaze that was studying his every movement for some body language hints of things Waylon wasn't saying out loud.

“You guys have sex?” She asked the million dollar question.

“Yes,” Waylon admitted, feeling his entire face go warm. “We have slept together. More than once.”

“Oh my God! Way! Wow, okay, so was it good? Do you like it? Is it everything you always dreamed it could be?” Lisa's girlish enthusiasm made Waylon feel slightly uncomfortable.

“Well, uh, yeah I guess. I do really enjoy it with Eddie,” Waylon mumbled, unable to keep a dumb smile off of his face. “It's...pretty hot.”

“Who's the top and who's the bottom?!”

“Wow. That is extremely personal,” Waylon protested, which only made Lisa giggle. 

“When you came out, and I had to think about you with a man, I always saw you as the one giving it. But then, when you started dating the biggest most muscular man I've ever met in person...well, I wondered if maybe you wouldn't be the one getting it instead.”

Waylon laughed out loud. This was definitely the most awkward conversation he had ever had with Lisa. And they had been through a lot together. “I guess eventually I hope it's a kind of, give and take, ya know, swapping positions. God, this is hard to talk about with you.”

“Interesting,” grinned Lisa. “Way's a bottom. Hmm.”

Waylon sighed, leaning back and trying to sink into the couch to hide his embarrassment. “That's not even the worst part.” Since he was opening up to Lisa, might as well use the opportunity to talk about some of the issues he'd been facing. “Eddie is really into dresses and lingerie and that type of thing.”

“Eddie dresses up like a woman?” Lisa gasped.

“No,” Waylon said, taking a deep breath. “He dresses _me_ like a woman.”

“You got to wear some of those gorgeous dresses he makes?! Oh man, I am so jealous. Eddie might be strange, but those gowns we photographed were stunning. You have the legs for it! And the waist. Hell, you're kind of a smaller guy anyways so I can see...”

“Lisa,” snapped Waylon. “Just, be serious for a second. Because like, I don't mind dressing up. Between us, I kind of like it.” That made Lisa giggle, and Waylon just narrowed his eyes as though she was laughing out of turn in class. She quickly cleared her throat and stifled the noise before he continued. “But the weird part...”

“That isn't the weird part?!?!”

Waylon shook his head and ignored the outburst. “The weird part is that sometimes when we're...” he drifted off, waving his hand as though reaching for a word.

“You can say fucking around me. I'm an adult. I have fucked before, as you are well aware,” Lisa said.

“Okay, yes, so when we're fucking, he talks to me sometimes. Like I'm a girl,” Waylon said.

Lisa's brow scrunched up adorably and her lips pursed. “I need examples.”

“Okay, let's see, he calls me a slut and a whore...”

“Lots of people talk dirty like that during sex, maybe he's just kinky. Oh man, Way's into kinky sex. I never would have guessed!” Lisa's grin was sinful.

“...yeah but he also tells me he wants me to have his babies,” Waylon said. The following silence was palpable. 

“That is kinda weird,” Lisa finally conceded. 

“I know. I talked to him about it. He says he knows I”m a man, and likes that I'm a man, but I guess he just still talks like that during sex.”

“You know,” said Lisa, putting a supportive arm around her friend's shoulders. “Sex, in general, is just weird. I mean, all the naked bodies just flopping around trying to shoot fluids everywhere. So dressing up and talking dirty isn't much more strange than just regular sex. Lots of people you wouldn't expect are freaks in the bedroom. Not speaking from experience, I've just grown to expect that I guess. The internet has ruined a lot of things for me.”

Waylon laughed and pulled Lisa closer for a half hug. “Thanks Lis. I'm going to miss living with you. You really are the perfect room mate.”

“We'll still be friends Waylon. Best friends.”

The next day, Waylon put his hands up on Eddie's shop window to peek inside. The tailor was staring daggers are two women who looked similar, and were the right age difference to assume they were mother and daughter. They were holding up a large dress in a bag. Waylon knocked on the glass, and Eddie turned his head. His expression immediately melted from an angry scowl into a dreamy smile. Waylon waved. Eddie smiled back. Waylon walked away from the shop, unable to stop the huge dumb grin on his face. 

Waylon had just settled behind his desk, waiting for his computer to boot, when the door opened and a young man walked in. He was wearing flannel pants, a stained t-shirt, and a gray hoodie that was zipped up despite it being August in Colorado. The kid walked up to the desk and leaned forward to look at Waylon.

“Can I help you with...” Waylon's words dropped off when he recognized the stranger. It was the kid with the shaved head. The same boy he had seen at the church during the service call, and leaving the scene of the fire the previous day. “I've seen you before. Who are you?”

“They're watching you,” the boy said, his voice a strained whisper. His eyes were glancing around the store, into every corner. He reminded Waylon of Miles when he had first shown up doing his investigative reporting routine. 

“Who's watching me?”

“Cameras. In the walls. You're in danger. They'll own you too. Then you never escape.”

“Who are you?” Waylon asked again.

“Don't let them own you. You'll never escape. Someone has to stop them. Or none of us will ever escape.”

“Okay let me help you. What's your name? Where are there cameras? Is there someone I can call for you?”

And just as abruptly as the strange kid had entered, he turned, pulling the hood lower down on his head and stalked out the door. Huh.

Waylon was left with a decidedly freaked out feeling. He tried to reason with himself. That kid had been somehow connected to the church. A church so fucking insane the “priest” roasted himself and took down the whole building. It was likely— probable—that this boy was disturbed in some way. Or maybe he was being a punk and trying to scare people for no damn reason. Kids could be stupid and cruel. Either way, Waylon had a feeling his day was definitely ruined. 

He felt insane as he looked around the room with a new eye. At the hospital, he had overseen the installation of hidden cameras in several areas for the protection of staff and patients alike. Waylon thought he knew what to look for, but he couldn't be sure. 

The walls were old, the ceiling was cheap Styrofoam looking tiles, and the coat of white paint the landlords had so generously applied was peeling in several areas. Is it possible it was lead paint? At this point, Waylon would not put anything past Murkoff. There was definitely something wrong with that company. He did a quick once over of the shop, paying attention to the walls, the corners, the outlet boxes and fixtures. And then he saw it.

One of the ceiling tiles looked rat eaten. A tiny piece of a corner was missing, leaving a small opening. At the very least, Waylon felt he should fix the flawed tile. He walked around for the small step ladder he kept on hand and used it to climb up and investigate the gap. When he pushed on the tile, he found himself face to face with a tiny red light. 

Waylon's first reaction was to scream and jump back down the ladder. His blood turned to ice in his veins. Someone really did have a camera up in the ceiling of his shop. That crazy kid that had walked in was telling the _truth_?? Or had he just gotten lucky!? But even if he hadn't known, how had that very real camera gotten into his shop?

Eddie? He didn't seem the type that was so jealous or paranoid he would try to spy on Waylon. Plus, he was technologically challenged in the worst possible way. Miles Upshur? The guy is desperate for a story and constantly begging Waylon for assistance. Maybe Miles was keeping tabs on him? He was always carrying around a camcorder and seemed well versed with video equipment. Or maybe Miles was right, and Murkoff was a bunch of sleazy corrupt assholes spying on their tenants for yet undiscovered reasons.

Waylon grabbed some wire-cutters, climbed back up the ladders, and disconnected the damn camera. The reason it was there didn't matter. The camera had to be removed. Waylon then continued his search upstairs into the apartment that was currently used only for storage. He found two more cameras. Waylon felt physically ill when he locked up shop and ran next door.

“Madam, you are paying me for my professional opinion, and I am giving it to you, and you are definitely not cut out for mother-of-pearl. I can suggest several other shades that would be well suited to your daughter's skin tone,” Eddie was speaking to customers when Waylon barged in, the bell clanging behind him. 

“What ever happened to the customer is always right?!” the woman practically screeched at Eddie.

“No one in their right mind would say that about my customers, madam,” Eddie retorted. He glanced over at Waylon. “Darling, not the best time...”

“Don't mind me, I'll stay out of the way. I have to do something,” Waylon mumbled, causing Eddie to frown worriedly at his lover.

“Very well. You've convinced me,” Eddie said, addressing his customers once again. “I will begin on this dress to your specifications, using mother-of-pearl silk as the base layer. But I must insist on you signing a contract that it was _you_ who insisted on the color and that any later decision that it is horrible and makes your daughter's skin tone look sallow, is not reason enough, to not pay. And since I am so positive you are going to hate this gown, I am going to require more than fifty-percent up front. To ensure I am not left wanting when you storm out of here hating the way your daughter looks in this dress.”

The two women were staring at each other in disbelief. “You are quite possibly the most infuriating man I have ever met,” seethed the older woman.

“But he's the best, mom,” hissed the younger woman, who must be the bride. 

Waylon missed the rest of the transaction and conversation as he scoured the shop for any signs of more cameras. He began to feel like maybe it was just his apartment. It was a localized problem. Maybe it was Murkoff. Waylon needed to re-read those non-disclosure agreements. For all he knew, he may have agreed to having his apartment bugged without even realizing it. 

A tiny red beam from an opening around an exposed plumbing pipe made Waylon's heart sink. He ran next door to get his tools and began removing the cameras from Eddie's shop as well. One down stairs, one in his main apartment area, and even one in the bedroom. He had searched the basement thoroughly but was unable to find any cameras or suspicious crevices. It was possible whoever put up the cameras did not even know about Eddie's secret underground room.

All of the removed cameras were deposited in a heap on Eddie's bed as Waylon paced, equal parts angry and horrified. Eddie had finished with the customers and joined him upstairs. Waylon had never seen his face look so menacing. 

“Who?”

“I have no fucking clue,” said Waylon, ashamed at the way his voice raised as he started to panic. “I have no clue. I have to tell someone. What about Miles?”

“I don't trust that rat,” spat Eddie.

“I know you don't, but he's the only person who's been investigating this place. He saw something sinister when we all saw nothing. And now that it's looking more and more Big Brother, maybe we were wrong to doubt. I have his e-mail,” Waylon said, wringing his hands together from nerves.

“What if he put them up there in the first place? I always see that creep with a camera in his hand.”

“I just...I don't know,” Waylon said meekly. “Maybe we should get out of here for a while. Come stay at the apartment. Lisa won't care if it's an emergency.”

“I am truly swamped at the moment, darling. While I find this extremely disturbing, it is at least a relief that you have found them and deactivated them.”

“What if I missed some? I didn't find any in the basement. What if whoever put them there is watching us right now?” Waylon was flying to the window now, lifting up a slat in the blinds and peering through. He felt his paranoia reaching up to choke him. “I'm scared.”

“Sleep here tonight, darling. I won't let anything happen to you. Leave the reporter out of it, for now,” Eddie said, pulling his frazzled lover in for a tight embrace. 

Waylon agreed to stay, but he brought over his laptop and was up late researching Murkoff. The fire was being blamed on the poor, unfortunate souls that had to rely on the place for food. Why? Well, Waylon thought, electrical problems makes it sound like Murkoff is letting their property fall into disrepair and the truth would generate some rather uncomfortable questions for Murkoff about why they would allow a strange organization like that to operate on their premise. 

Murkoff Chemical. The website made them sound like an assembly of saints, working to cure cancer and AIDS, while giving a huge portion of profits to charities. There was the occasional story about a lawsuit, but as far as Waylon could see, none of them ended with any kind of guilt on Murkoff's part. Most were settled out of court, or dropped altogether by the plaintiff. Murkoff wins. 

And then he logged into his Murkoff account and stared at the company's portal for the longest time. How hard would it be, really, to run a few scrips off the radar and do some harmless searching? All he needed to do was target one word. Walrider. That's the word Miles had written to him. The word the priest had said on some delusional tirade. If it came back with nothing, well, at least he would have tried. 

Waylon couldn't resist the urge to search the cryptic word. Walrider. All he saw were Wikipedia articles about some German folk monster. Well, that was unhelpful. Why would Murkoff want to name some new drug or research after a boogie man from the old world? 

It was the hospital all over again. Waylon had been too afraid to speak out against his employer then, and he had the same feelings now. It was one thing to suspect Murkoff, and another to declare war by hacking into their system. His checks had all cleared. His shop and livelihood relied on them. Could he throw all that away for curiosity's sake? Lisa had convinced him to look the other way over the hospital. Had he made the right decision to walk away instead of calling anyone out for the crimes he discovered?

It was a testament to his paranoia that Waylon suddenly had a chilling thought. What if Murkoff knew about his past at the hospital? What if Jeremy fucking Blaire, somehow knew that he was the kind of man who could see something wrong and look the other way? Was he that kind of man?

Waylon eventually crawled into bed, tired and defeated. Eddie adjusted sleepily to the new addition, wrapping his long limbs around Waylon, and pulling him close. Somehow, Waylon finally found sleep.


	13. Bad Spy Movie

The next morning, Waylon woke up alone in Eddie's bed, sprawled out on satin sheets. He buried his face in a pillow and inhaled deeply. He wished to envelope himself in the scent of his lover—as soothing as it was arousing. Waylon had to fight his instincts to stay in bed in order to get dressed in yesterday's clothes and wander out into the apartment.

Still no Eddie, but someone had made coffee, and it was still warm. Waylon helped himself to a mug, checking his laptop and phone. A message from Lisa. She was working for the next few days, and Miles had asked about him. Maybe it was time to find out what all the reporter knew, even if Eddie disagreed.

Waylon finally found Eddie in the basement. The loud whirring of the sewing machine as he pushed through yards and yards of off-white silk combined with an old-timey song playing from an old radio made it impossible for Eddie to hear Waylon even when he was calling his name from right behind him. No wonder the tailor had missed all the commotion of the fire that day. 

“EDDIE,” Waylon finally had to scream and wave his hands in the man's face before he took his foot off the pedal and turned to face Waylon.

“Good morning, darling,” said Eddie, smiling with such an adorable dreamy look on his face that Waylon had to grin back. “Sleep well?”

“Not really. I'm going over to the shop. Just, didn't want to leave without...seeing you?” Waylon smiled. Eddie smiled. Both men just stared for a moment in the dimly lit basement with some strange old song croaking in the background.

“Dinner. Tonight. My place,” grinned Eddie. Waylon nodded, running a hand through his unwashed blond hair. It seemed unfair that Eddie was so well put together in a vest and slacks with his thick stripe of hair slicked back so perfectly. 

“I'd love that,” Waylon said, leaning in to kiss Eddie's cheek before turning to climb out of the basement.

Waylon's heart sunk the moment he left Eddie's shop and saw a black Mercedes parked outside of his own store. His hands started to shake. Was Jeremy Blaire psychic to know that he had been considering betraying the company? Waylon tried to ignore the car and unlocked his store, but the loud slamming of a car door had him watching in the reflection of the store's glass front as a black suited Blaire approached. 

“Mr. Park. We need to have a word,” said Jeremy, and Waylon noticed that today he was not alone. Another two men had also stepped out of the car wearing black suits and black sunglasses. One of the goons was carrying a black leather briefcase. They reminded Waylon of a bad spy movie.

“What can I help you with,” Waylon asked, innocently, pausing with his door slightly ajar.

“You're going to want this to be in private,” said Blaire.

Waylon wanted Eddie. He wanted Lisa. Shit, he would have settled for Miles showing up looking handsomely befuddled and video recording the scene playing out in front of the dingy computer shop. Waylon nodded, took a deep breath, and walked into his store. Jeremy and the other two men followed inside. One closed the door and stood with his hands clasped in front of him, as though guarding the entrance. From someone coming in, or from Waylon running out?

“What is this about?” Waylon asked, trying to sound confident and keep the shaking out of his voice. “New contracting position? Trouble with a tenant? Is this about the fire?”

“You took it upon yourself to disengage some of our company's hardware without proper authorization. We are going to have to ask that you give that back,” Jeremy said calmly. He nodded at the other suit who carried the briefcase. The man walked to Waylon's desk. He pulled an ultra-thin laptop out of the case and started to open it up. Waylon decided to walk back behind his desk, putting some distance between him and the secret service wannabes. 

“I'm not sure I know what you're talking about...” Waylon said, uneasy as he sank onto the stool he used behind the desktop.

“Don't play dumb, Mr. Park. You dismantled our security system. Unhooked the cameras. We need those back. And if you wish to remain in your position, you would not go looking for anything similar in the future.”

“The cameras...that was you? Why? I don't remember signing up for some kind of twenty four hour surveillance from Murkoff,” Waylon protested, feeling righteous anger swelling in his chest. This was America. They couldn't do that, right?

“Cute, Mr. Park. You will not be looking into this any further. And you will not be telling anyone else about this. We already know you told your boyfriend, and took apart the units in his place as well. I wonder if you realize the position your boy toy is in? It's easy to get a parolee back behind bars. One slip up, and he will go away again. Possibly forever.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Did I stutter? Keep up, Mr. Park. I've only begun to threaten you,” said Jeremy. The man who had opened the laptop was clicking away at something. He stopped and turned toward Jeremy who looked at the screen and then back at Waylon. “No you see, what I am really going to use to threaten you will be this, Mr. Park.” Waylon's body cringed as Jeremy reached into his pocket. His hands flew up as though to protect his face from a gun. Jeremy merely smirked and dropped a large yellow envelope onto the table. 

Waylon's breathe came in ragged gasps. He looked back and forth from the envelope to Jeremy and the other men in the room. 

“Go ahead,” Jeremy said with a dismissive swat of his fingers. “You can keep those. I have plenty.”

Waylon slowly slid the envelope over to himself and pulled back the top. Something inside felt heavy and when he tilted the envelope a stack of about a hundred printed photographs slid out onto the counter. Waylon's stomach tilted and he suddenly tasted bile in the back of his throat. 

Still photographs of himself and Eddie. Private photographs taken from the cameras when neither had known they were being watched. Photographs of Waylon dressed in women's clothing. Some were zoomed in. Waylon had no way of knowing if that was done by someone actively watching at the time, or later when printing the photos. He quickly shuffled through enough of the photos to realize how devastating they were. He glared up at Blaire.

“You spied on me. Invaded my privacy. Took photographs of me in my private residence. That's illegal.”

“Oh sex tapes get leaked all the time. Are you sure you want that kind of exposure, though?”

“No one would even give a shit about photographs of some nobody having sex. That's the majority of the internet right there,” Waylon said, fighting back fear. 

“True. Your parents would probably be alarmed. Your girlfriend, Lisa?”

“She's an ex-girlfriend, we aren't together anymore, it's not like that...”

“You might want to talk it over with your fuck buddy. There's a number of photographs that would negatively affect his clients, future and past.”

Waylon couldn't stop the automatic glance back at the stack of pictures. Maybe he should examine them closer and discuss it with Eddie before he makes any kind of decisions. But the victorious expression on Jeremy Blaire's smug face was too galling. “I doubt he would appreciate anyone threatening him like this.”

“So you really wouldn't mind if everyone in your life saw this?” Jeremy asked, turning the laptop slightly so that Waylon could see the video playing. He was looking at a close-up of himself, tears streaming down his face, wearing a veil, while Eddie throat fucked him hard. 

The shame. The embarrassment. A consensual sex act that had seemed so exciting and fun was now dirty and horrible. Waylon wanted to cry. Or puke. Maybe both. He had never felt so violated in his life. 

“What do you want then...” Waylon whispered, hanging his head, unable to watch the video or look at the men invading his shop and his privacy. 

“Your complete obedience and loyalty. Murkoff needs technicians we can trust. And really we can only trust someone we can ensure would never turn on us. Now that we have that with you, it's time to get your credentials upgraded again. You're going to be working with us on the inside now, Park. Understand?”

“Yes...” Waylon said, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He was hearing that strange boy in the hoodie's warning. _Don't let them own you_. Well. Too late. 

Jeremy Blaire gave some motion and the men packed up and began heading toward the doors. He paused before closing it to shout back at Waylon. “For what it's worth, you look damn sexy in all those panties Park. And watching that creep hump you on all fours in front of the mirrors? I admit, I got a semi.”

Waylon didn't look up and give Blaire the satisfaction of getting any kind of reaction. No reaction. He stared down at the counter. He could see some of the photos on the table. Waylon on his knees with a veil. Eddie's hands spreading him the first night they made love. Waylon alone in his apartment, wearing his corset lingerie and smiling to himself. Waylon and Eddie kissing innocently on the couch. They were all almost romantic and sweet, until one considered their source. 

He reached down into a shallow drawer that held pens, screwdrivers, and other small junk. Waylon's pushed past a few receipts and notes until he found it. He quickly fired off an e-mail to one Miles Upshur. “We need to talk. Meet me. Now.”

-x-x-x-

“Okay yeah, bring edamame for the table, the sashimi appetizer, steak hibachi with fried vegetables, miso soup, and...do you have those fried crab wonton things? My friend here will be picking up the tab. Thank you,” Miles was speaking to the waitress when Waylon walked in carrying his laptop satchel and looking around with wide brown eyes. “Look who finally decided to talk. Took you long enough.” Waylon looked under the table, knocking it slightly and upsetting the place settings. “Whoa there Park, everything okay? You don't look so good.”

Waylon leaned across the table to whisper loudly, “I need to know everything you know about Murkoff.”

“Well,” said Miles, giving a smug grin, “that would take a considerably long time. I know facts, rumors, conjectures, hearsay, and conspiracy theories. Why don't you narrow it down a little for me? What the fuck happened to you?”

“Murkoff. They were spying on me. They're forcing me to do some work for them. I don't know what kind yet. But they are using blackmail to get me on board and keep me silent. Loyal they called it,” said Waylon, sitting straight up as though afraid to relax even slightly. 

“Shit. Okay well, blackmail with what?” Miles asked, reaching for his camcorder. 

“Don't you dare record this. And what they have on me is absolutely not something we are going to discuss.”

“Man, Lisa said you were a really laid back fun kind of guy. You seem weird right now. I'm not going to lie, I am a little freaked out...”

“I'm a lotta freaked out. Fuck,” Waylon pushed his sandy blond hair back out of his eyes. “Someone came into the shop. Warned me. Said that Murkoff was spying on me. I found some cameras.”

“Shit, maybe we can hack into them, find out what they have and...”

“I already know what they have. And I already dismantled them.”

“Well, that was dumb, now they know that you know...”Miles was unimpressed with Waylon's sleuthing. Waylon didn't give a fuck.

“What's done is done. Listen. He warned me that I was being watched, that I shouldn't let them own me. Now this. Now they own me. They fucking own me. The kid he said they owned all of us. I think he meant the other tenants...”

“Kid? Wait, who warned you?”

“Some young guy, shaved head, wearing a hoodie...”

“Shit, Billy. Dammit. He's not supposed to be talking to anyone but me...”

“Your source? Some little kid is your source? I saw him that day at the fire. And another day he was at the church when I went for a service call.”

“Yeah well, he's one of Murkoff's people. He's almost twenty three, not a kid. Voluntary test subject. He gets paid, but he has to stay silent. Not just about the procedures and experimental chemicals, but also because his mother has a bad past with drugs. Someone died, she was indicated in it as a possible drug-fueled accident. Murkoff made it go away as long as the family kept quiet and went along with the program.”

“Fuck,” Waylon put his elbows on the table and began massaging his temples. “The same type of shit happened to Eddie. He told me a while back that Murkoff offered him a place at the complex, and he turned it down. Next thing he knew, his landlord had some new background check and he no longer passed. No other place would take him. He ended up having to come crawling to Murkoff just to have a place to run his business.”

“Holy shit. You've been sitting on that information for how long? God dammit Park,” Miles cursed as he dug out a notepad and began flipping through the pages. “That's gotta be what it is. That has to be the reason so many fucked up weirdos are in that place. Everyone there is indebted to Murkoff. Relies on Murkoff to keep their records relatively clear. Then they're less likely to report any strange smells or strange happenings. You know, like a goddamn church burning down due to self immolation.”

“Everyone there? None of them might be willingly spying or working for Murkoff?”

“I doubt it. It's difficult to find information though,” Miles stopped and squinted down at his notes. “Take that Manera guy. Frank, the butcher. You do some digging you find out he was involved in an accidental shooting on a hunting trip. His hunting partner died. He did some time for negligent homicide or some shit.” Miles paused to lean in closer and lowered his voice. “I made some phone calls to people closer to the crime. They were paid off to not talk about it, but at least a few were happy to drop some disturbing hints. That guy ate his hunting partner. I'm talking, the guy died and Frank starts eating him. And this wasn't on some goddamn mountain in the Andres. He was a thirty minute walk away from a Bait n' Tackle shop. There was absolutely no reason to eat the guy unless he was a certifiable goddamn psychopath.”

Waylon looked up at Miles, all the blood having drained from his face. “Oh god. Why didn't you tell me?”

“I warned you about Gluskin and you didn't seem to care. Not my job to make you care about your fucked up neighbors,” Miles started flipping through his book again. “All of them. That fake priest, the butcher, the chiropractor shit he used to be on Murkoff's bank roll and then something went horribly wrong. Rather than fire him and risk lawsuits they just kinda, shuffled him into his own place. I've seen him cashing Murkoff checks. I don't even know if he does a single ounce of chiropractic work at all.” Miles grew quiet, humming before quickly scribbling down some new notes. “Even the damn security guard is ex-military, special forces, fucked up so bad he had a stint in a mental institution.”

“Shit,” Waylon muttered. “Mental institution. That reminds me. I drove Eddie to visit his psychiatrist, and I saw Jeremy walking in with some suits. Walked right in without checking in at the desk. Like he owned the goddamn place.”

“Great, so Murkoff gets to know these people through their ties with the loony bin. Sinks their claws in to ensure they are going to be loyal. And then puts them in some disgusting strip-mall for...some reason. Why?”

Waylon shook his head, startled when he saw the waitress was back with food. The smell made his nausea flare up again. “I have no idea.”

“There's gotta be a reason. They keep them all there right beside the chemical complex. For all we know, they have cameras in every building there,” Miles said, tearing into the food. The disturbing conversation hadn't dimmed his appetite in the slightest, it appeared. “In case they need more test subjects?”

“I don't know, but they want me to start working, and I am sure they will replace those cameras soon. They could be in there right now. If I am going to help you, it has to be now. Fast, before they're watching,” Waylon said, starting to dig into his laptop satchel. The small table was covered with several small decorative plates of food now but Waylon made room, despite Mile's complaints.

“Watch the soup, damn!”

“You're supposed to drink the soup first, so get to it,” snapped Waylon, setting up more equipment on the bench between the men. 

Miles pointed at the equipment with a pair of chopsticks. “I'm not a tech guy so, care to enlighten me about what you're doing, Mr. Hacker?”

Waylon rolled his eyes at the term, typing quickly at the keys. “I'm going to get you that information you wanted. The word you wrote down for me a while ago. Remember? Wa...”

“I remember, shut up,” Miles said with a mouth full of rice, suddenly staring around the room. The restaurant was empty due to it being after lunch and before dinner, and the staff seemed to barely speak English. The reporter was still tense.

“Let's just hope that my laptop, an onion router, and a firewall patch are enough to fool Murkoff...”


	14. Bad Taste

Waylon was beyond paranoid as he pulled into the shopping complex after dark. The large gates that were always opened and seemed mostly decorative, suddenly seemed sinister and frightening. The dim, flickering street lights made him jump with each electrical noise. He pounded on Eddie's door as though the hounds of hell were at his heels. 

Eddie seemed annoyed—then alarmed. He brought his lover inside and locked the door's many locks. “Darling? Are you quite alright? You look terrified....darling you're shaking.” Eddie put a strong hand against Waylon's brow and felt the clammy sweat there. “You need to lie down.”

“No. No, Eddie, listen to me,” Waylon shifted his laptop satchel on his shoulder and peered out the window, unable to see anything in the dark parking lot with the interior lights on. “Let's go upstairs. Away from the windows.”

Eddie's face was full of motherly concern, but he helped Waylon upstairs and watched as his lover dropped his laptop satchel to the ground and began pacing the floor.

“This is bad Eddie. Really bad,” Waylon said, wringing his hands together.

“You're going to have to explain yourself better than that, darling.”

Waylon stopped pacing and walked to stand a breath away from Eddie, allowing him to talk at a barely audible whisper. “Murkoff. They threatened me today. They threatened you.”

“Threatened me how,” Eddie asked, his striking blue eyes darkening and the angles of his face suddenly seeming sharp and rough. Waylon warred with himself as he considered telling Eddie openly about the photographs and videos, but he was too ashamed to bring up the disconcerting details. He decided it might be better to shield his lover from the embarrassment. 

“If I don't work for them, they'll hurt you. Evict you. Make it so you can't ever work again. Or even get you locked away again. They'll hurt me too. Hurt my reputation. Shame me. Use you against me,” Waylon's eyes were shimmering now. Eddie wrapped his strong arms around his lover.

“There there, darling,” Eddie whispered against Waylon's hair. “When was the last time you showered? You really need to relax.”

“I can't relax. I...I may have fucked up,” Waylon said, pulling away from Eddie and resuming his maniacal pacing. “I went to Upshur. I know you don't trust him, but I just...fuck Blaire. Man, fuck him, seriously.”

“What did you do then?” Eddie prodded. His expression was nonplussed but Waylon could sense Eddie was more nervous than he allowed to show. It seemed they were both holding back to protect the other.

Waylon returned to his close position to whisper again. “Pulled out some files. Every file mentioning this...protocol. I don't know what it is. Miles has a source on the inside who said it's really bad and Murkoff could be in a lot of trouble if anyone knew. But no one does. Because they've paid off everyone there is to pay off. I have no idea the outcome of it, but I got the information and passed it off to Miles. He's going to confront his source with it now. I don't know if Murkoff will find out. If they do, they will likely try to hurt us both.”

Eddie looked at the carpet, a deep frown on his face. “You did what you felt was right. I don't like having those fucks standing over me, holding me prisoner like this either. Maybe it's for the best. Whatever they throw at us, we can take it. Together.”

Tears streaked Waylon's dirty cheeks when he finally looked up to meet Eddie's clear blue eyes. Waylon threw his arms around Eddie, kissing him hard, noses butting against one another. “Leave with me,” Waylon said against Eddie's lips. “Leave with me now. Let's go away. They can't hurt us or hold anything over us if we don't need them; where they can't bother us.”

“They're not going to win this,” Eddie said gently, running a hand through Waylon's dirty hair. “You mean too much to me. I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you. I'll protect you. Come on, let's get you cleaned up and into my bed.” Eddie gave a suggestive smile at the last part, and Waylon sighed. There really was nothing Waylon could do at that time. He couldn't take back those files. He couldn't change the fact that someone owned pornographic videos of him and Eddie. He decided to focus on things he could control. Waylon took a shower, and crawled into bed with Eddie.

Eddie made it easier to forget about the problems when he rubbed down Waylon's body with firm and gentle hands. That night, Waylon had no problem letting go and allowing Eddie to take the lead. Eddie opened him up slowly, using plenty of lube, and teasing Waylon's cock with his tongue while he worked. Eddie thrusting deep into his core was the only thing that quieted the problems going on outside. 

Waylon craved the feeling of Eddie, he realized. Soon the only thing that existed was the two of them and those satin sheets. They kissed slow and deep while Eddie moved inside and Waylon couldn't resist moaning and writhing. Waylon arched his back and thrust his hips, impaling himself on Eddie's cock again and again. 

“That's it, darling. Work for it, you minx,” Eddie grunted as he met Waylon's hips with forceful thrusts of his own. “Show me how badly you want me to fill you to overflowing. Tell me you want to take my seed...have my children.”

White light exploded behind Waylon's eyelids when he finally came all over his own stomach. He groaned and panted, watching his lover take it all in. “Give it to me, Eddie. Pay it all out to me. I want to feel you leaking out of me...want to make a baby with you.” Eddie picked up his thrusting, moaning at Waylon's words. Waylon decided it was worth the awkward wording to see Eddie come undone so thoroughly because of him. Eddie finished deep inside, causing both men to moan in unison at the new wet sensation. 

The two spooned, thoroughly exhausted and satisfied. “I looked all over for the perfect girl. And then I found you instead. Darling. You are the best thing that has happened in my life.”

“Oh Eddie...”

Waylon woke, hours later, to the sound of his cell-phone vibrating on Eddie's nightstand. He sleepily grabbed it and hit accept. “Hello,” he croaked sleepily. 

“Way! I've been texting you for hours. Miles has been out all night. He said something bad was happening. I couldn't get off work!! Must be a full moon or something there was probably a dozen babies born last night. But seriously, Miles says he talked to you yesterday. You guys had lunch or something?”

“Lisa...yeah, okay. Did he say what was going to happen that was bad?” Waylon asked, becoming more alert. 

“No clue. I don't think he even knew. From what I could gather, he shared some kinda new information with a source and the guy started behaving irrationally. Miles is afraid he's going to do something stupid.”

“ _Miles_ is afraid someone _else_ is going to do something stupid. Huh.”

“Is Eddie there?” Lisa asked, her voice taking on that cutesy singsong quality she loved.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Is he naked?”

“Wha,” Waylon stuttered for a moment. He looked over at Eddie as though afraid his boyfriend could hear the conversation, but Eddie was sleeping soundly. And yeah, he was naked. “That's hardly appropriate...”

“Oh, come on. I don't know, I think you guys are pretty hot. I mean, Eddie he's hot in a “I can't tell if this guy wants to murder me or fuck me” kind of way. And you well...I am obviously very attracted to you. So thinking about you two together...I do that sometimes, and it's...”

“Lisa,” snapped Waylon. “Look, I gotta go. Tell Miles to meet me whenever he can. He and I have more to talk about.”

Waylon dropped backwards on the sheets, trying to fight down the feeling of dread that was rising inside of his stomach. 

“Anything important?” Eddie asked sleepily, pushing himself up on one elbow to smile over at his lover. His hair was falling enticingly into his droopy eyes. 

“Good morning,” grinned Waylon, moving to place a soft kiss on the corner of Eddie's mouth. His boyfriend could be incredibly cute sometimes. “I don't know if it was important yet. I guess Miles is going through the information we gathered. Must have shared something with his source at Murkoff. Guy ran off, destination and motives unknown.”

Eddie considered that for a moment before smiling over at Waylon. “Coffee?”

It was rather nice, waking up with Eddie. Waylon drank coffee while Eddie drank tea, both using matching pottery mugs and smiling at one another. Anything happening outside of their small bubble was forgotten. Waylon checked the news on his laptop and Eddie flipped through a fabric catalog. It was exactly the life Waylon craved. They could be like this always. First, he just had to push Murkoff out of their lives once and for all. Waylon desperately hoped that the information he'd gotten to Miles could prove detrimental to the company in some way. If he'd been religious, he would have prayed. Instead, he just smiled dreamily at Eddie and hoped against hope. 

Eddie had a large dress to finish, though he profusely apologized. He hated leaving his lover alone when he was so distraught, but Waylon assured him he was a big boy and could take care of himself. Waylon got dressed and grabbed his satchel, sighing as a handful of photographs slipped out. He frowned down at a picture of Eddie fondling him through his faux-corset dress. Waylon found the picture erotic and beautiful, but most others would probably label it as strange and vulgar. He sighed, shoving a handful of the pictures into his jacket pocket. If Jeremy thought having those photographs would destroy him, Waylon would just prove him wrong by finding some joy in them. They were pictures of him and the man he loved, after all.

No sooner had Waylon walked out of Eddie's shop when he sighted the black Mercedes again. He narrowed his eyes and walked straight up to the window of the backseat and knocked on the glass with his knuckle. They had already blackmailed him, what else could they really do? The dark tinted window slowly descended and Waylon was face to face with one of Jeremy Blaire's black suited goons. 

“If it isn't my favorite smut peddle,” Waylon said, flashing a friendly smile as he leaned against the car. “What can I do for you today?”

“Time for you to get your updated credentials, Park,” came Jeremy's voice from the other spot in the backseat. “Climb in. We have to get your new I.D. You are going to be starting sooner than anticipated.”

“How soon?” Waylon asked, frowning.

“Now,” Jeremy said. Whether it was an answer or a signal to the goon Waylon couldn't know. The man closest to him quickly leaned forward and forced a needle into Waylon's exposed forearm that was resting against the car. Waylon tried to argue, but everything was going black and his mouth tasted like purple...

-x-x-x-

People were standing around him. How many people? The room smelled like ashes. He tried to look around and realized he was blindfolded. He tried to scream and realized he was gagged. Waylon settled on jerking his body violently, being completely incapacitated and strapped to some kind of chair. 

“Ah, Mr. Park...” came a familiar voice. Waylon stopped thrashing as he felt Jeremy Blaire walk closer and lean in to talk to him. “Someone's been telling stories outside of class. You really thought you could bypass Murkoff's security? You yourself helped to perfect it. We know all about your little extracurricular searching. You're going to tell us exactly what you did with that information.”

Waylon tried to tell Jeremy to go fuck himself, but the gag turned it into muffled nonsense. The next thing he knew, a fist connected with his jaw likely dislocating it. Pain burst behind his blind eyes and coppery blood filled his mouth. He choked on it as he tried to spit it past the gag and had to settle on swallowing it. 

“I wasn't done talking yet, Park,” Jeremy said, tapping his finger hard against Waylon's forehead several times. “You need to listen park. Maybe if you'd done more listening and less talking after our meeting yesterday, you wouldn't be here in this predicament.” Waylon felt the tears soaking his blindfold and snot running from his nose. His chest shook with his silent sobs. “Oh there there, man up Park.” Waylon could hear Jeremy clearing his throat and cracking his knuckles. “Now, as I was saying, you told some information to someone. I need you to tell me who. And if you are lucky, and I believe you, I may give you a chance to redeem yourself.”

Waylon felt the gag being removed from his mouth, and he quickly spit blood out and gasped to fill his lungs with air. The entire area smelled like a week old campfire and rotten meat. “I don't even know what I got,” Waylon said truthfully, panting and staring blindly at the direction of Jeremy's voice.

The second punch was no less forceful. It connected with Waylon's right temple, probably shattering his orbital bone. Lisa would haven known. All Waylon could do was struggle against his bonds and wail helplessly. His entire face thrummed with pain and his ears rang from the impact. He cursed and writhed until he felt a strong hand grabbing his previously damaged jaw and squeezing hard. Waylon grimaced and hissed in pain.

“Do. Not. Give. Me. Bullshit. Answers,” Jeremy enunciated. “What did you do. Who did you show.”

“I did a search. All files, no matter security clearance, having to do with something called Walrider. W-A-L...”

“I know how to fucking spell it Park, who did you tell? Now!” Jeremy said forcefully. Waylon could feel spit flying on his damaged face. He licked his bloody lips. 

“Miles. I told Miles,” Waylon said, but it was more of a sob. He couldn't hold back his tears now, crying loudly and dropping his chin down to his chest. “Fuck. I told Miles Upshur. He's a reporter. I gave him the files. I don't even know how many or what they said. I just, did the search, and I passed the information along. I knew it was going against company policy. I was angry about yesterday. I won't go against you again.” Waylon was sniffling and shaking with the force of his grief. “Whatever you want. I won't fight you anymore.”

“Damn right you won't,” Jeremy forced out the words through clenched teeth. Waylon felt the blindfold being jerked away from his face. He squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden intrusion of blinding light. He blinked several times, trying to discern his location. Sunlight streaming from above? Dirty, sooty walls? His attention was soon snapped back to Jeremy with the man slapped him soundly against the damaged side of his face. 

Waylon tried to curl up, but being tied to the chair prevented him from even shirking away as Jeremy stood in front of him. The next touch to his face was gentle—a mockery of a lover's caress. Waylon stared up at Jeremy through tear soaked lashes and wanted to puke. Jeremy was smiling down at him as he ran a thumb back and forth across Waylon's swollen bottom lip. 

“It's your lucky day Park. That information isn't going to get your friend Miles anywhere. In fact, he's breaking a restraining order the company has against him. The police are already on their way to arrest him and confiscate any recording and computer equipment he owns. I sure hope nothing happens to all that sensitive information while in transit...” Jeremy gave a dark chuckle that made Waylon whimper. “You are being given a second chance to prove your loyalty to this company. A final chance. If you decide you don't want that chance, those threats I made yesterday become a reality—and that's only the start of your problems, tech.”

Jeremy positioned himself in front of Waylon where his feet met Waylon's and smirked as he undid the fly on his black suit pants. “You go ahead and convince me of your loyalty. Then you can walk out of here. You'll be expected to check in and out of our facility every single day. We'll pay you a stipend. And you can keep your shitty apartment. But you decide to do anything vindictive down there,” Jeremy nodded at someone out of Waylon's line of vision. Jeremy held out a hand and Waylon watched with frightened brown eyes as someone placed a wicked set of pliers into Jeremy's waiting palm. “Like I said. You do anything dumb, and I will remove every tooth in your face, and fuck your skull any time I damn well feel like it. Understood?”

Waylon was too petrified to nod. His throat was too swollen to speak. His face was throbbing from the earlier beating. Jeremy's limp dick was suddenly dangling in his face. Waylon closed his eyes and tears fell, but he still opened his mouth. He made sure to keep his lips over his teeth, though it was painful from the earlier damage. He couldn't risk so much as grazing Jeremy with his teeth. And then he was sucking obediently. 

“That's nice Park,” smirked Jeremy. “Real nice. I can tell you like that. Smile pretty for the camera.”

Waylon's eyes flew open as he lips stretched around Jeremy's growing erection and he saw a camcorder pointed toward his face, red light shining. Don't look. Don't think. Waylon forced himself to shut down and focus on the task at hand. He moved his mouth back and forth on Jeremy. He used his tongue to make it wetter and help the process. He tasted his own blood mixed with Jeremy's precum. Jeremy pulled his blond hair and Waylon whimpered around his dick. “No closing your eyes, Park. Look at me. Show me how much you like this.”

Waylon turned dead brown eyes upwards towards Jeremy's face, aware of the camera angling itself to catch all the action. He sucked, licked, and swallowed around the intruding member. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. People had endured worse and lived. He could do anything, if it meant living free with the man he loved not locked in some institution somewhere. Jeremy gave a grunt and thrust deeper into Waylon's throat causing him to gag violently.

“Aww, come on princess. You can take that. I saw when you took it from your boyfriend,” Jeremy said, forcing himself to the back of Waylon's throat again. “What do you think he would think of you now? Oh wait, he already calls you a whore. And you like it. Because that's what you are. A filthy whore, begging anyone to fill your man cunt.”

Waylon focused on not biting Jeremy. He concentrated on not throwing up on Jeremy's cock since that might also upset him. He forced himself to stay calm, and he endured what was happening. That's all he could do. Endure. 

An alarm sounded. At first, Waylon feared he might be hallucinating the loud chime, as though the trauma he was suffering had caused some kind of break from reality. It wasn't a sound Waylon had ever heard before. Not like a siren or a car alarm but something else. It reminded him of a disaster alarm before a tsunami. But this was Colorado. 

“Shit,” Jeremy cursed, withdrawing from Waylon's mouth and quickly tucking himself back into his pants. The man put down the camcorder and Waylon had a chance to catch his breath. “That's the containment alarm. Could it be a mistake? Stephenson, call in and make sure this isn't some kind of drill or terrible joke.

“Uh boss,” came a voice from further away behind Waylon. “I don't think it's a drill. You should see this.”

Waylon did not know what to make of the commotion. He could hear the alarm, and the sound of shoes running then engines starting and men cursing.

“Closest hazmat suits are in the gym. We need to get there. FAST,” came Jeremy's voice. 

“What about...”

“Fuck everyone else. Get us protected, then we need to get this shit contained. Stephenson, go hit the switch on the gate. We need to keep everyone who comes into contact with this shit inside, do you understand me?”

“Yes sir, Mr. Blaire.”

And then silence. Strange, eerie silence with the droning alarm the only sound. Waylon struggled against his restraints, but could not get his hands or ankles free. He tried screaming for help. Over, and over again he screamed. He still wasn't even sure where he was. And then he started to cough. 

In high school, Waylon had unluckily walked too close to a fight that was broken up with pepper spray. The choking sensation in his lungs felt like the same thing. His lungs and eyes were burning. He briefly wondered if maybe one of Jeremy's goons hadn't sprayed him before they left, though it seemed unlikely. Then through his tears he noticed the fog.

It drifted in like a grayish-green specter. A strange mist curled down into the area where Waylon was being held. It seemed to rise making it less opaque near the ground. Within a matter of minutes, the fog was so thick that Waylon could no longer tell the features of the room. 

He started to panic, screaming anew, but that only made him draw larger lungfuls of the disgusting smog into his mouth. The smell was familiar. It was that disgusting chemical burning tire scent that often overwhelmed the shopping complex. But it had never been so potent, and definitely never been visible. Waylon stopped screaming and instead focused on shallow breaths, trying to inhale a little as possible.

A sudden striking pain filled his brain and strange shapes, moving and squirming, flashed before his eyes. He looked around, horrified. He could see only grayish-green smoke, but moments before he could have sworn that he saw something else. Something black and indistinct. Something sinister. Panic threatened to overwhelm him as he threw his weight against his restraints, eventually managing to topple the cheap plastic chair holding him prisoner.

On the floor it was clearer as the fog seemed to rise before becoming stable and hovering like some diseased cloud. Waylon blinked away some of the residual images lingering like black spots after a camera's flash. He could see burnt out pews. Piles of ashes and debris. The church. Those assholes had brought him to the burnt out shell of a church to humiliate and torture him. Great. No one would ever find him here. But no sooner had the thought crossed his mind than Waylon heard soft footsteps like someone running in sneakers. 

“Hold up,” came a familiar young voice. Waylon felt a sawing motion against his binds before he felt them loosen and fall. Waylon assisted by holding still, and he was soon rubbing his wrists where the bindings had cut into his flesh. He looked up and saw a familiar hoodie.

“You,” Waylon broke down in a coughing fit before he could continue. “You're Billy.”

The young boy looked down at Waylon and he got his first good look under the hood. The boy's face looked as though it had recently suffered a chemical burn. The flesh was peeling away in strips and oozing. The injuries covered his face, neck, and bald head from what Waylon could see. “Don't breathe in the smoke,” said Billy, pulling the drawstring on his hoodie to block his nose and mouth with the material. The young man rocked back on his heels and sprung up to a standing position. The last Waylon saw of him, he was dashing out of the building as though his life depended on it. Maybe it did.

“Wait,” Waylon called, struggling to his feet. A quick pat down proved Jeremy's goons had confiscated his cell phone, but left the pornographic pictures of him and Eddie. He glanced around and saw the camcorder that had been documenting his disgusting shame. He grabbed it and saw it was still filming. He carried it with him as he started toward the door, feeling very much like Miles. The journalist probably would have been proud of him in that moment.

At full height the smoke was too thick. Waylon got on his hands and knees and crawled toward the collapsed portion of the building that had once been the front doors. He had to crawl carefully around all of the glass left behind from the shattering of the store windows. Waylon did not focus on the humiliation or the pain. He thought only of escape. And Eddie. 

Outside, the scene was not much better. The smoke was so thick in the area that Waylon could barely make out his hand in front of his face unless he was crawling. The alarm was still sounding, drowning out any other noises. If sirens were here or on their way, Waylon would never be able to hear them over the bedlam. Eddie was somewhere in the mess. Waylon had to get to Eddie. 

Waylon stood up and started to walk, but he only managed to crawl a short way down the sidewalk before he started to wretch violently. All of the coffee and breakfast he had shared with Eddie came up in a violent spray. He collapsed to his knees, heaving until there was nothing but bile left to come up. He looked out across the smoke, calling for help, and seeing only a strange amorphous black cloud stalking through the mist. The sight of the entity made Waylon rigid with fear.

He pushed into the closest shop, relieved to find that it was open. It wasn't Sunday so all the businesses should be open. Eddie's shop was near his computer shop at the entrance. Waylon had a ways to walk through the suffocating smog to get to his lover. For now he gasped at the air, seeing that the shop was still slightly hazy with the smoke. It was managing to get inside, slowly but surely. Soon, nowhere would be safe. Waylon needed something to cover his mouth, to mitigate the damage done from breathing in the filthy cloud. 

“Hello,” he called out before dissolving into another coughing fit. “Hello,” he croaked again weekly. In response he heard a strange whirring sound, like the noise of a buzz-saw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So nervous people don't want plot, but the plot is what motivated this fic so I guess I'll just keep on with my original writing?


	15. We Have to Contain It

It took a few moments for Waylon to adjust to his surroundings. He saw a glass counter filled with meat in front of the plastic sheeting that separated the main butcher shop from the back area and freezer. 

“Hello? Frank!” called out Waylon, coughing more as he struggled weakly to his feet. He still felt nauseous and worried he might vomit again all over the butcher shop floor. Still the only answer was that whirring. 

Waylon walked up to the counter and craned his neck, trying to see deeper into the shop. “Is anyone here? There's some kind of emergency. Is your phone working?”

A large smear of blood originated behind the counter. The stain streaked into the back room as though whatever had made the smear had been dragged into the storage area. Had Frank had an accident, or was that a normal amount of blood to be on a butcher's floor?

A scream. A terrifying scream. It sounded muffled but very close, and it sounded female. Waylon opened the short door and dashed behind the counter. He found himself weaving through giant cuts of cold meat hung from hooks and stacks of cardboard boxes. The haze had already seeped in making it difficult to see very far in front of his face. A light was coming from one side and Waylon dashed towards the open doorway....then stopped. Something in his brain made him lift up the camera and press the red button.

There was a room off of the main back storage freezer—hidden from the shop. It contained some tables, counters, and other necessities for a break room. Waylon saw the back of a naked man. The fact that the figure was coated in blood was more shocking than the nudity. The chemical burn marks Waylon had seen on Billy's face were nothing compared to the marks that were all over this man's body, like a road map to hell, obscuring a myriad of black ink tattoos. Some deeper gashes looked self inflicted. Then, he noticed the woman on the stainless steel counter.

Waylon had never seen the woman before—whether she was a friend of the butcher's or an unlucky customer, he could not know. What he could see is that she was trussed up like some kind of prize hog with several different twine knots around her knees, hips, hands, ankles, and shoulders. There was blood all over the counter. A pool of the red liquid, puddled and dripped in sluggish droplets to the floor. Waylon zoomed in with he camera and could see that she had something shoved in her mouth, like an apple in a roasted pig's maw. It wasn't an apple though. It was a hand, and the bleeding stub at the end of her left arm confirmed to Waylon it was her own.

The naked, blood-soaked man leaned forward, and took a giant bite out of the woman. Waylon saw bleeding chunks out of her entire torso where her shirt had been ripped away as though in a hurry. She screamed when the man bit down, but the hand in her mouth muffled the sound.

Waylon didn't know what to do. Never in a million years did he expect, after waking up in bliss with his lover, to end up watching a house of horrors in front of his eyes. He felt sick, and it was nothing to do with the disgusting smog outside of the shop and seeping through the airways. He tried to back away slowly and bumped into a precarious stack of boxes, knocking one to the ground. The following crash immediately drew the attention of the naked man. 

Frank. Waylon recognized the long haired butcher from his visits to assist the shop. The man was naked and covered in weeping wounds, but it was definitely Frank. The woman on the counter began to tussle anew as the butcher turned his attention towards the interloper.

“Frank,” called Waylon, holding up the camcorder. “Frank it's me, the tech guy. Look, something bad is going on man. You don't need to do this. Let her go.” He realized the absurdity of his trembling voice attempting to talk sense into a murderously unhinged man. It was the only response his brain could muster.

Waylon watched petrified as the man carefully picked up a strange tool and suddenly the buzz of a hand-held saw filled the area. The butcher slowly brought the whirring blade down on the woman's leg, effectively amputating below the knee. The scream was audible even through the appendage in her mouth. It took a surprising amount of effort to cleave through the leg bone.

“What the fuck! What the actual fuck!” Waylon couldn't stop himself from crying out. Miles had warned him that the butcher had a troubled history, but Frank had done his time for those crimes. Frank was better, right? As soon as the saw was pulled away the naked man shoved his face into exposed raw flesh and started gnawing away like a starved dog.

His arms were frozen; Waylon couldn't move. He needed to run away—to get the fuck out of there. He had never been a man for confrontations until his recent stand against Blaire. As horrible as that had ended for him, Waylon felt that any aggression towards this rabid cannibal would end worse. But the woman was screaming and dying. No, worse, she was being tortured, and the only thing Waylon could do was document it. He must have been out of his mind when he walked into the room and reached out to the feasting cannibal.

“Frank! You have to fucking stop this! You're killing her!” he screamed, pushing the man away from the woman's leg. Instead of pushing the man away, the maniac turned on Waylon and sunk his bloody teeth into Waylon's exposed flesh near the collar of his shirt. Waylon howled in pain, dropping the camera as his hands flew to Frank's head. The crazed man pulled away and Waylon watched in horror as he chewed his bloody mouthful, smiled, and swallowed loudly. Waylon looked at his collar, seeing the missing chunk of flesh and the bleeding wound. His body threatened to faint.

“Why is this happening,” Waylon groaned to himself as he clutched his bleeding wound. “Leave her...” he started to protest, but he was silenced as he watched Frank return to ripping the woman apart with his teeth and the terrible whirring buzz-saw. The woman was not making any more noise or movements. Death was a mercy in such a situation. Waylon started to back up slowly and felt his shoe connect with the fallen camcorder, sending it flying into the storage room.

He wished he could have saved her, but Waylon was no hero. He turned and dashed away from the room and back into the storage room. He could barely breathe as he looked for the camera. If he survived this nightmare, that footage was the only way to prove to authorities what had happened. By luck, Waylon found the camera and tried to make his way out of the crowded storage, but the fog was getting thicker. He was easily disoriented and found himself back at the doorway to the cannibal's lair. Waylon's return immediately caught the maniac's attention. 

“Hello, meat,” Frank said as he smiled, blood coating his teeth. The buzz-saw was in his hand as he stalked toward Waylon with a hungry gleam in his eye. Waylon's mind was racing. It was a butcher shop there were bound to be weapons. What would he even do with a weapon? Waylon had never so much as been in a fist fight. He panicked and grabbed one of the boxes behind him in the storage area. He threw it at Frank, feeling the light weight of the box and knowing there was no way it could do any damage. 

The distraction was enough that the demented butcher flinched, and then his bare feet slipped in the growing puddle of blood spreading across the tile floor under the victim. Waylon saw Frank fall out of the corner of his eye as he rushed to find the exit. The sound of the buzz-saw hitting the floor and a blood-curdling scream had Waylon cringing. 

Miles had known about Frank's past of cannibalism, but the reporter could never have suspected the man was still practicing. The strange smog had given him the excuse he needed to torture, eat, and kill some random woman. Oh God. Waylon tried to be sick, but nothing came out as he bent over at the waist. He strained his ears to hear over his own rapid breathing and pounding heartbeat. He couldn't hear any more screaming or further pursuit from the back room. He had no idea if the man lived, and no intention of finding out. The butcher's shop was a horror show. He had to get out. He couldn't breathe. Waylon would rather suck down a lung full of the poison gas than stay in the butcher's shop one second longer.

The light filtering in through the windowed storefront illuminated the fog like an ethereal halo. Waylon ran toward the door. He was still clutching the camcorder, red light flashing. Had it captured the entire horrible scene that had happened? Waylon held the gushing wound at his neck with his free hand and staggered toward the door. Waylon's limbs refused to respond. He felt drunk as he tried to instruct his limbs only to have them rebel against him. He was in the front store about to leave when he spied a roll of cheesecloth used to wrap some of the meats. Waylon quickly wrapped it around his mouth, hoping it would filter out some of the harmful gas and allow him to walk outside.

The fog had not lessened. If anything, the mist had convalesced into a pea-soup fog. Waylon pushed outside of the shop and then pressed his back against the glass. He kept one hand on the glass to keep him oriented as he started a deliberate trek toward the front of the shopping center. His hands were shaking violently, rattling the camcorder in his grip. Soon, everything was too much and Waylon slowly lowered to the ground and tried to sob. No tears came to his irritated eyes. He was too disturbed to move. Waylon had never seen a dead body outside of a casket. Now he had seen a woman hacked to pieces and been instrumental in the possible death of a man. The fact that the man had been certifiably insane only slightly lessened the crime in his mind.

The world had gone crazy. Why had the world gone crazy? Waylon seriously considered sitting on the sidewalk until he suffocated from the fumes, but one thing drew him away from those dark thoughts. Eddie. He was somewhere in this mess and Waylon had to get to him and rescue him. 

Waylon looked at the camcorder he was still holding, trying to determine if it was working or not. He turned it on himself for a moment as he sat panting in the eerie smog. “Lisa,” he said, without hesitation. “This is a nightmare. Murkoff knew about this, Jeremy Blaire knew about this, and I don't know if there is a way out of here. If I never get to see your face again I just wanted to say that I love you, and I'm sorry for everything I ever put you through.” He felt the sting of absent tears and quickly turned the lens away from himself. He hoped his quiet sobbing would not translate onto the recording. 

He tried to stand up, but his legs gave out and he sank back down to the ground. At the second attempt, Waylon was able to rise and started limping back down the sidewalk. A dark figure suddenly manifested through the fog and Waylon screamed in horror, sure the shapeless monster from earlier had returned. The silhouette stopped and cocked an ear at the sound of the scream, then proceeded to spring straight toward him. 

“Who goes there? I'm with the press!” screamed the shadowy figure. 

Waylon covered his head with his hands, even though he still held the camcorder. He tried to hide, but the figure did not stop advancing. Waylon was shocked when the advancing entity fell on him in a fierce hug. “Holy fuck, Park! You're alive!”

It took a few seconds. Disheveled brown hair, familiar gray eyes peeking over a green mask a surgeon might wear. And that voice... “Miles?”

“Waylon! You're not brain fried. First good news of the day.”

“Miles, what the fuck are you doing here,” screamed Waylon, though it hurt his throat and caused him to cough uncontrollably. The reporter was still clinging to him, and Waylon returned the embrace as though it was the last human contact he would ever know in his life.

“I heard about the shit going down. I rushed over to witness it first hand. No news organization is going to brush this under the rug. Not while I'm fucking watching,” said Miles, turning his camera in a quick circle around the area. Miles disentangled himself from the smaller man and squeezed Waylon's shoulder. The tech gave a scream that reached octaves he hadn't known he could achieve.

“Holy shit, Miles! Your hand!”

“I know. Both hands actually. But don't worry, crazy bastard left the fingers that matter,” said Miles, throwing up the two finger salute in the direction of Murkoff Chemical. 

“What the fuck happened?!” demanded Waylon, staring in horror at his friends mangled hands. The fingers had been amputated unevenly, bone shards protruding from raw, bloody flesh. Miles seemed oblivious to what had to be torturous pain. Waylon wondered if the man was somehow in shock.

“Listen, that intel you got for me. Walrider. It's dirty shit, Park. Really dirty shit. I guess it makes sane people see monsters, and people with monsters in the closet... well, it lets them out. Best I can figure, that's why they're keeping this freak show on campus. They wanted to know if their output got to an unacceptable level, but didn't want to spend tons more cash. It was becoming less clear if their research would ever payoff. Figured the psychos would act out before regular people would even notice the effects, and they could charge them rent as a fucked up bonus.”

“Are the files safe?”

“Already sent them away to my contact. He's international, but I suspect he'll be on a plane tonight once he sees these files. I have backups as well. They're safe with Lisa,” said Miles, and Waylon immediately threw a weak punch at the shoulder of the reporter.

“How could you?? What if she becomes a target? Lisa is precious to me! Why are you endangering her, you fucking shit!” screamed Waylon, causing a new bout of coughing.

“Hey hey, I didn't know this was going to happen! I figured Billy had a right to know. He was the one pushing for answers, trying to get peace for his poor tortured mom. She got so many treatments with the fucking Walrider chemical, she just lost it. Poor kid wanted his mom back. I let him know what we found out. It was his right.”

“I don't give a shit, how did this poison get loose?!” Waylon demanded. 

“I...” Miles paused to laugh, bringing his bleeding hands up to his covered mouth. “I think it was Billy. He warned me to stay away. He said it was time. That his mom was finally getting free from Murkoff. I have absolutely no idea how he could have done something like this, though.”

“I saw him,” said Waylon, holding his face in his hands. “I saw Billy. His face was all fucked up.”

“Yeah, just like Trager's. Fucking quack chiropractor tied me to a goddamn wheelchair and clipped off my fingers!! He was threatening to cut off much more, before I escaped. He's dead.”

“Yeah well the butcher took a bite out of me,” growled Waylon, pulling his collar out to better showcase the chunk of his neck that was missing.

“Holy shit, Park. I'm sorry this is all happening. It's not my fault though, you understand? It's not me, it's not fucking Billy, we are _all_ victims. Murkoff is the fucking monster. We are bringing them down,” said Miles, spinning his camcorder in a circle. There was nothing out there except the gray-green fog. 

“I saw a monster,” said Waylon.

“You saw what the mist _made_ you see Waylon. There are no monsters. It's just chemicals, it's fucking with your head.” 

“Eddie,” said Waylon, calmly. “I have to get to Eddie.”

“Park, what part of _crazy bastards go crazy_ are you having trouble with?!? Your boyfriend has a history of violent behavior. Lisa told me he hit you. If he's had even half the exposure to this shit that you and I are getting, he's off the deep end. Best thing we can do right now is to make it to the exit. Listen, I've been sneaking in past the cameras at the front gates for months. Blaire tried to put a restraining order and say I couldn't trespass here. Behind your shop, near the front gate, there's a ladder. We can climb over. Before I climbed in, I texted Lisa. I am positive there are police and emergency units out there. We can escape!”

“You have a phone!!! Let me use it,” demanded Waylon.

“No signal,” said Miles, reaching into his pocket with his free hand and holding the useless gadget up for Waylon to inspect. “Not even like a bad signal either. Seems more like a jammer. Originating from Murkoff, no doubt. Fuck this place. Seriously, just, fuck this place.”

“Then let's make towards the front gate. But I am still stopping for Eddie,” said Waylon, pushing himself up to his feet. He steadied himself, adjusted the cloth over his mouth, and started to stagger down the sidewalk. Miles was right at his side.

“We have to get out of here Park. For Lisa. For your family, man. For your own goddamn life, do you value that at all?”

“I'm still stopping for Eddie.”

“Do not, I repeat _do not_ stop for that psycho.”

“I love him,” Waylon said, admitting to Miles what he'd never confessed to Eddie.

“You are a fucking dead man if you go in there, I will not let you, I will...”

“Want to call me a pig again, filth?” came a loud rumbling voice from somewhere in the mist. Suddenly, a huge figure came charging towards the pair. Waylon only had a moment to recognize the uniformed figure as the giant Murkoff security guard, and not the police coming to rescue them.

“You've gotta be fucking kidding me,” groaned Miles, quickly jumping out of the way of the charging juggernaut. The security guard's face was a mess of gore. The uniform and his large stature were the only features identifying him as Officer Walker. Waylon could not begin to guess what had inflicted such injuries.

“Come here, little pig,” growled the monstrous security guard, glancing back and forth between Waylon and Miles as though he was unsure of their identities or partially blinded by the mist. “We have to contain it. Can't let contamination reach the local town.”

“Run. He can't chase both of us. Get to the ladder. Go!” said Miles through clenched teeth. Miles dashed in one direction, and Waylon continued down the sidewalk. The colossus tore off after Miles, taunting the reporter by calling him a little pig. The fog worked to blanket sounds and soon there was no sign of either of them. Out of the corner of his eye, Waylon saw it again. The black, shifting particulate entity stalking through the fog. The worst part was the sickening feeling of dread that accompanied the creature's appearance. Waylon sprinted down the sidewalk until he came to a familiar store front: Gluskin's Tailoring and Alterations. He quickly pushed inside and gasped in the hazy interior, pulling his cloth aside.

“Eddie!” screamed Waylon. He wasn't sure what was happening to Miles outside. Waylon hoped the reporter was able to make it over to the ladder and avoid the murderous rent-a-cop. He had to find Eddie and get to that ladder as soon as possible. “Eddie! It's Waylon! Where are you? I know a way out, we have to get the fuck out of here!”

No answer. A similar feeling to the butcher's shop settled over Waylon as he looked around the empty shop. He refused to believe that Eddie would be stricken like that insane cannibal or the disturbed ex-soldier. Eddie had been attending therapy and responding well for a decade. Eddie was stable. Waylon had no reason to fear for his beloved. He walked carefully into the shop, looking behind the curtains. He jogged up the stairs and looked around. The living room, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom...all empty. 

Maybe Eddie escaped. He could have been outside of the gates, worried sick about Waylon. He started to march toward the front door when he remembered one last place to check. The basement. Waylon rushed over to the trapdoor in the floor. The entrance was partially closed and a steady stream of thick, curling smog floating up through the small opening. Waylon threw the covering aside and coughed at the sudden burst of smoke into his nose. 

Waylon felt for the ladder that was usually present and quickly descended. The smoke was so thick he could hardly see his hand in front of his face. If Eddie had been trapped down here with this much smoke, he was possibly passed out or worse. “Eddie!” Waylon screamed into the dark room. Sounds began to register through his addled mind. He could hear the hum of a sewing machine and the distorted music coming from the old-timey radio station Eddie preferred. Waylon remembered how Eddie had missed all the commotion of the fire due to being in his basement. Waylon pulled the camcorder back up and attempted to use it as a kind of light source in the dark, misty cellar. “Eddie,” he said again, feeling the words muffled by the smoke. It was too thick. Waylon began to feel lightheaded from lack of oxygen. 

“Darling...” came a familiar soothing voice. It was the last thing Waylon remembered before he lost consciousness from the lack of breathable air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the really nice comments. Keeps me going even when I'm doubting myself. More soon! I'm honestly so tired of looking at this chapter and the next.


	16. The Groom

Conscious thought slowly returned. Waylon had never fainted before. His first thoughts were of the pain in his lungs. Every breath was agony and soon he dissolved into a fit of hoarse coughs. He reflexively attempted to bring his hands up to his mouth, but found them bound. For the second time that day, Waylon was incapacitated. His eyes flew open and he found himself staring at the kind of portable lantern one might take camping, hanging from a dingy unfinished ceiling. Eddie's basement, he remembered. 

Waylon pulled at the restraints and found his wrists and ankles were held tight to some kind of table. He tried to remember any tables he had seen in Eddie's basement. The cheap plywood must have been obscured by sewing projects and yards of fabrics. At least the air seemed to have cleared slightly after opening the trapdoor, though mist still swirled about in eddies created from unknown drafts in the secret basement.

“Eddie,” Waylon said, wriggling against his constraints and trying to look around the basement. 

“Darling,” came Eddie's voice, but something sounded off with his normally soothing voice. “Did I frighten you? I'm awfully sorry. I didn't mean to.”

Waylon slowly became aware that someone had stripped him out of his clothes and dressed him in a delicate gown. It was the same satin dress he had worn the first time he and Eddie ever fooled around after the photo-shoot. The dress that had meant so much to him. And now he was tied to some strange table wearing the dress, and Eddie was nearby in the mist.

“Eddie, did you tie me up? This is beyond bad timing for this. We have to get out of here. This is serious, did you not notice the” Waylon's attention was immediately drawn to a figure that walked into the dim light cast by the lamp. It was Eddie, but...

Eddie's face had a strange burn pattern along the right side of his face, similar to the weeping wounds on Billy and Frank. His right eyebrow was all but missing, and his lips looked blistered and bloody. Something had caused all the blood vessels in his right eye to burst, leaving a shocking blue iris floating amidst a sea of blood. The other side of his face was less marred. A giant bleeding gash leading away from his bloodshot left eye. The damage to his face was extensive and disturbing. Worst of all was the unsettling smile on his face. It was like staring at a different person.

“You are quite right of course, darling. This is serious,” said Eddie, his voice at once familiar and horrifying. His usually eloquent speech pattern seemed slurred and lisped in a new way. Perhaps the damage Waylon could see was just the beginning. “We've met before, haven't we?”

“Eddie....do you not recognize me? It's Waylon,” he whimpered, pulling in vain against the restraints. Maybe the damage to Eddie's face had affected his vision.

“You look familiar...maybe from before I woke up. It was like a dream, waking in such an ethereal place, and then you walked in and I thought to myself...could this be the one?”

“I don't understand. We have to get the fuck out of here! This isn't...” Waylon was silenced when Eddie pressed a large, strong hand wearing a finger-less glove directly into his mouth. He tried to scream around the intrusion and his nostrils flared as he attempted to breathe in enough of the dirty air to stay conscious. 

“Now now, darling. That's no way for a lady to behave,” scolded Eddie, though there was a smile on his ruined face. “Suppose I can't blame you for that. You're not what you're meant to be. Not yet. I'm going to fix you. I want to make you better.”

Eddie leaned closer, his hand still clamped over Waylon's mouth. “I've searched all over for the right girl to make my wife, and in the end she happens right into my home. An adorable story to tell the children—don't you agree, darling?” The gloved hand was removed and replaced with Eddie's mouth as he forced his tongue between Waylon's lips. Waylon closed his eyes and whimpered into the kiss. He struggled to lift his shoulders off the table, returning the kiss passionately, hoping to snap Eddie out of whatever horrible side-effect he was suffering due to the terrible fog. 

When Eddie pulled away blood-red eyes stared down into Waylon's, conveying such a deep sense of devotion that Waylon felt maybe he had succeeded in getting through to Eddie. “We need to leave this place,” Waylon whispered, gulping the filthy air.

“But we've only just begun,” said Eddie, an unsettling smile splitting his corroded face. “I'm going to make an honest woman out of you.” Waylon felt the skirt of his dress being pushed up over his smooth shaven legs. The silky fabric gathered around his waist and there was nothing underneath to hide his shame. 

“Eddie, what are you doing,” whimpered Waylon, writhing in his restraints. “I came back to save you Eddie.”

“And you will save me, darling,” Eddie said, his tone sincere and full of adoration—sickeningly so. “You're going to make me whole. I want you to have my baby.” The strange way he said the word left Waylon feeling confused that maybe he had misheard. _I want you to have my vayvy_.

“Haven't we had this conversation before!” Waylon's panicked voice was cut off as he started to cough again. When he finally regained his breath, Eddie had wandered out of eyesight but his ominous humming remained nearby. 

“You don't need to be so defensive. I only want to help,” Eddie hummed out of sight. “A woman has to suffer many things. I know it isn't pleasant. But you need to endure, darling. For my sake, and the sake of our children.”

Waylon was at a loss of how to respond. His lover seemed to be in the midst of a delusional break from reality. He acted as though Waylon were a woman. It was similar to their bedroom talk that had been so confusing at first. That was perhaps what made it all the more disturbing.

“You seem so tense, darling,” purred Eddie, pulling something from behind his back. Too late, Waylon saw it was a long, sharp knife. He also became aware that Eddie's usual pristine clothing seemed to have been ripped and sewn back together in a hurry. His vest was patched, shirt untucked, and the pants a strange amalgamation of different pairs melded together. Everything was wrong. Waylon screamed out for help. “I do vow to make the incision as quick as possible.”

“Incision?” Waylon whined, arching his back off of the table, unable to tear his eyes away from the knife shining through the fog. “No...no no no.”

“You're going to be beautiful. My perfect bride,” cooed Eddie, sliding his empty hand along Waylon's smooth thigh and stopping just before making contact with his naked manhood. “Just a couple of quick incisions here,” he said, gesturing toward Waylon's flat chest, partially covered by the dainty gown, “Then I just need to cut away everything...vulgar.”

Waylon's eyes snapped wide as he stared down at a macabre shade of his boyfriend, his unearthly blue eyes staring between Waylon's legs with a look of utter disgust. 

“You don't have to do this Eddie...you don't have to...please”

“Don't you want love?” interrupted Eddie. “A family?” It was jarring for Waylon, hearing that precious word leaving blood torn lips. Eddie was gesturing with the long knife as though it was an extension of his arm. Waylon remembered all the delicious meals he had eaten with Eddie and wondered if this was the knife he'd used to prepare them. The gloved hand without the knife reached out and Waylon could not stop the involuntary flinch. Eddie's fingers lightly stroked along his chest following the neckline of the gown. He frowned as his fingers met with the raw, bloody hole surrounded by bruising teeth marks. Waylon hissed as he pressed against the tender skin giving a soft tsk tsk.

“You really must be more careful, darling,” muttered Eddie, glaring down at the unsightly wound. Waylon knew his face must be bruised and bloody as well, but the stranger in his boyfriend's body made no further comments about his injuries. Ruined eyes continued to roam up and down Waylon's prone body while he fingered the gown's neckline. He pulled the fabric down until the hard planes of Waylon's chest were exposed. Eddie gave a strangled moan before leaning down to lick and nip one of Waylon's tan nipples. 

Miles had been right. Eddie had lost it, the same as the butcher. Waylon stared at the ceiling and tried to ignore the fact that he would have loved this type of attention from Eddie in any other situation. He was surprised that he had any tears left as he started to cry, shaking from the effort to keep quiet and not attract unwanted attention. 

“You're so sensitive,” purred Eddie, which only had Waylon sniveling louder. Somehow in his stat Eddie was mistaking Waylon's distress for arousal. Waylon felt frozen in place. He wasn't sure what to do to get away from this situation. He couldn't stop the intrusive thought that if he had just stayed with Lisa none of this would be happening. He deserved this punishment for what he had put her through, his loving girlfriend. And now, Waylon's fate was to be castrated and murdered by his own goddamn boyfriend. 

Eddie slid his other hand up Waylon's exposed thigh, fingers lightly tickling the tender flesh. Then Waylon felt something cold against his thigh, causing him to jump involuntarily away from Eddie's touch. The bite of the blade made Waylon whimper pitifully. “Did I...forgot I was holding that. Oh Eddie...you dufus!” Eddie gave a barking, self-deprecating laugh.

Waylon tried to crane his head to look down. The cut was shallow and high on his leg. Eddie gave a sheepish grin as he met Waylon's stare. “Please,” Waylon said, lips quivering and tears running down his face. 

“Darling,” Eddie practically growled the word, leaning back over Waylon until their noses almost touched. “Look how you tremble for me.” The knife was gone from his hand when he returned his hand to the crease where Waylon's hip met his thigh, skirting away from the new wound. “You're as eager to consummate our union as I am,” his voice was barely a whisper as he hovered over Waylon. Rough lips began to caress and kiss along Waylon's moist cheeks as he wailed miserably. A seeking tongue lapped up his tears, even worming its way between his lashes, grazing against his eyeball. Waylon squirmed hopelessly and gave a whine.

Waylon writhed against his restraints with a burst of energy, desperate to get away from this man. Not Eddie. He couldn't think of him as Eddie. He had never found his lover's idiosyncrasies dangerous. Eccentric sure, but nothing to cause alarm. Had he been wrong? His subconscious was screaming that Eddie had possibly felt this way from the beginning. Maybe this was his real personality that he had been suppressing. Had there been signs? The dresses, the strange talk, the slap—were these warning signs that he had ignored due to his boyish crush on his sexy, talented neighbor?

Miles' warning that night at the club came back in full force. The women in Eddie's past that he had abused—one of them was left sterilized and another dead? It didn't bode well for Waylon's fate in that dusky underground room. 

“Hush now, darling,” Eddie whispered, planting a parting kiss on Waylon's cheek before moving away. The glint of steel in the dim light told Waylon that the knife had returned. Eddie stared down at Waylon with a look of raw adoration on his face. 

“Fuck,” whimpered Waylon, his muscles going limp as he collapsed on the table in a sobbing pile. His head lolled to the side, unable to focus due to the tears 

“The incision will hurt,” said Eddie, moving close to Waylon's face. “Just please, darling, try to focus on bleeding...less.”

The knife hurt, but it was nothing compared to the heartbreaking pain of knowing that it was Eddie who held the instrument. The cut slid in at an angle, and sliced around in a circle, almost disconnecting Waylon's pectoral muscle from his chest. He screamed. God, how he screamed. He pulled against the constraints until his muscles locked and gave out. Blood gushed freely from the wound, saturating the white dress. 

“Darling, you have to behave!” scolded Eddie. “You're ruining your dress. Have to find something more suitable around here. Can't have you wearing these disgusting rags...” Eddie's voice trailed off and Waylon tried to turn his head and watch out of his peripheral vision. The pain in his chest was blinding, made worse with each gasping breath, but he could feel adrenaline kicking in as well. His body put up one last fight against the ropes and he felt them giving slightly, but it was nowhere near enough slack to get free. 

Eddie wasn't moving. His head was bowed and he was standing just at the edge of Waylon's vision. He glanced down and noticed his wound, open and raw, leaking blood. Any attempt to tense the muscles of his arm or chest sent a jolt of paralyzing fear and acute nausea. The sight of so much blood and the hazy atmosphere had Waylon feeling light headed. Maybe it would be better if he passed out. It would be better if he didn't have to watch the man he loved mutilate him in a dirty basement. 

Somewhere in his twilight vision, Eddie reappeared. Waylon could barely register that he was holding something in his hand and his damaged face was scrunched up, as though in confusion. Waylon studied the features. How Eddie's handsome features had been injured. The wounds on his face oozed in the dim light, one half of his right eyebrow was gone, and those blood red eyes like something out of a horror flick. When that bloody gaze met Waylon's glazed eyes he thought he saw something there. Something comforting. 

“Eddie,” he barely managed, wincing from the pain of forming words with a throat raw from screaming and crying. “Please...” He watched as Eddie paced, one hand pushing back his slicked black stripe of hair, and the other gripping...the photographs. They'd been in the pocket of Waylon's discarded clothes and somehow Eddie had noticed them. “Do you remember me, Eddie? It's Waylon,” he tried again to reach the disturbed man. “You have to help me. You have to let me out of here so I can get help—so we can get help.”

“But you're...Waylon...” The words sounded familiar again.

“Of course you remember me, Eddie,” Waylon said, and he was shocked when that blood red gaze turned adoring and soft. 

“Darling,” he cooed, and Waylon smiled despite the pain. He nodded as best he could. Whatever had happened, it was okay. They could fix this still. “We are married?” Eddie asked.

What? Fuck. Waylon could feel his hope shatter in his chest. “What do you...I don't...Yes,” said Waylon, a rush of inspiration entering his muddled brain. “Yes, we are married. And you need to stop this right now! What kind of husband treats his bride this way.” The photos had included several of Waylon wearing a veil and white dress—the white dress Eddie had put on him and then ruined. 

“Forgive me, darling!” said Eddie, putting a comforting hand on Waylon's shoulder. “I'm doing this for you—for us. For our family.”

The room was hazy with the fog. The sound of a humming sewing machine and warped old music filled the hidden basement. The place that no one knew about. The place where Waylon would die.

“No!” Waylon said, jerking against the ropes. Eddie retrieved the knife and walked to the side of Waylon's body where his chest remained uncut. “You can't do this right now. I'm...” Waylon was stuttering, cursing his chaotic brain. “I'm pregnant. We are wed and I am pregnant. Eddie. Please, do not harm me. You are harming your own child. Your legacy!”

He couldn't know if it was breaking through to Eddie because he wouldn't meet Waylon's pleading eyes. If he couldn't break through to Eddie, he could play a part. 

“I'm going to be the father I never had,” Eddie said, without looking at Waylon. When he finally turned around, damaged crimson eyes stared at him half-lidded and dilated. “There's something special about you. I knew you were nothing like those other whores.”

“No, I'm nothing like them. But we need to leave Eddie. Now. This place is a bio-hazard, emergency crews are probably looking for us by now. This place isn't safe anymore,” Waylon swallowed when Eddie walked toward him, knife in hand, and a visible bulge in his makeshift trousers. Waylon's eyes went wide. Eddie was hard. Something about this terrible situation was turning him on, and Waylon didn't want to ponder what it meant. He found Waylon's helplessness arousing—or was it his pain, blood, or tears?

Eddie walked to his side, staring down with lust-filled red eyes. He brought the knife up and Waylon winced and tried to pull away as much as his bindings permitted. Then he felt the knife sawing along the bindings and soon his hand was free. Waylon sat panting in fear, each pained breath aggravating his open chest wounds. Only when he felt the other wrist restraint cut away did he allow himself to give out a shuddering sigh. He rubbed his raw, rope-burnt wrists. Some kind of reason had reached Eddie and Waylon was going to be released.

Until he felt strong hands pull roughly on his thighs, pulling his ass down to the edge of the table with his ankles still bound keeping his legs spread wide. A small yelp was all Waylon managed before he felt Eddie grind his clothed erection against Waylon's spread thighs.

“I hope you don't think me rude, darling,” Eddie's voice was so low now it was like a low growl in Waylon's ear as he bent his body completely over the table, getting Waylon's blood all over his patchwork vest. “But there is still something that needs to be done. For the sake, of our children.” The knife was in his hand and blood red eyes stared intently at Waylon's genitals. 

“No,” Waylon said, shaking his head weakly on the table. “No.” And then he was screaming over and over again, No, like a mantra. Eddie seemed to be carefully considering his next move, positioning the knife to the right, and then to the left with his lips pursed in thought. “You'll hurt the baby! No, Eddie! FUCK!” Waylon was trying to sit up with his hands free, but in his weakened state he was easily held down by Eddie's strong hand on his wounded chest. 

“Please, darling, try to relax,” Eddie said in what he probably thought was a soothing voice that only brought on a new slough of screams from Waylon. “Just close your eyes, it will be over before you know it...” Cold steel on fragile flesh. Screams mixing with the hum and radio static of the basement. And yet all Waylon could hear was the rush of blood in his ears. 

And as his vision once again threatened to fade to black, he saw it. Coalescing in the fog was the creature—the demon that Waylon had spotted in the fog. Somehow it had seeped into Eddie's hidden basement. The larger man was easily thrown away from the table and, caught off guard, tripped and fell somewhere in the shadowy fog. Waylon sat up, trying to scoot back on the table away from the entity and struggling against the ties on his ankles. The creature pursued Eddie and Waylon worked to free himself with his unbound hands.

“What? Darling! You filthy sluts! You're just like all the others! You don't deserve to have my children!” The sounds of Eddie screaming were muffled by the atmospheric haze and the other intrusive sounds in the basement. Waylon managed to free himself finally and slid off the table, leaving a thick bloody smear behind him. Everything on his body hurt and he clutched his bleeding chest as he hobbled toward the ladder, stopping only when he heard a blood curdling scream that had to be Eddie's. 

“Eddie,” he whined, turning toward the wounded cry before he could even stop himself. He thought he saw something, through the mist, like Eddie impaled and bleeding, but then something else gripped his shoulder like a vice. 

“Are you fucking kidding me, Park? Run, you dumb fuck!”

“Miles? There's something in here, some kind of monster, it's...”

The reporter was covered in blood—too much blood. How was he upright having lost so much blood? Waylon did not want to look down at his own state, knowing he was bleeding through a gown. There was no time to question, only time to react. Waylon managed to pull himself up the ladder, favoring the side of his body that had not been sliced open. Miles came up behind him much quicker and dashed toward the front door, pulling Waylon behind him. The last thing he heard from the basement was Eddie's crying voice, “I would have loved you always...” Somehow it sounded more like a threat than a romantic promise.

Without his earlier make-shift mask, the fumes were once again suffocating. Waylon was coughing and choking as they made their way out of the misty store and out into what should have been noon but resembled the eerie first light of sunrise through a thick cloud bank. Waylon was worthless, coughing until he was gagging, but Miles pulled him harshly in the direction of the front gates, hugging the building fronts to avoid getting disoriented. He quickly turned after Waylon's store and walked to the back of the line of buildings. The ladder, Waylon seemed to remember somewhere in his shaken brain. 

“How did you...” Waylon started, but he couldn't get the words out. “Eddie,” he managed at last. 

“There are crews outside. They'll get him, if he's not...” Miles didn't finish his sentence having met with the perimeter walls. 

“If he's not **what** , Miles?! Crazy? Dead? What happened to the monster I saw,” Waylon's throat felt ruined from forcing out the words through his painful throat. 

“There is no monster, I told you,” was the only reply. Miles ignored his continued pleas. The reporter started to walk along quicker looking desperately for the ladder. It was minutes before the ladder faded into view. Waylon ran immediately toward the ladder, but was stopped when he saw a figure in a damaged hazmat suit staggering towards them. 

“Park! You're alive” came a familiar voice. Jeremy Blaire was limping and gripping his side in apparent agony. “How are you alive?” He posed the question as he stumbled down onto one knee, groaning. “Help me up. Help me out of here.”

“No,” said Miles Upshur, coming up to grip at Waylon's arm. “Fuck that sorry excuse of a human being. Get up this ladder or I will fuck-start your face with a...”

Waylon's face was still hurting from the beating Jeremy Blaire had given him that day, not to mention the sexual assault that had followed. He should not stop to even acknowledge the piece of trash. But something in Waylon wouldn't let him abandon a human life. There were police outside, they would arrest and truly prosecute Blaire for this disaster. Miles was already at the ladder, still screaming to Waylon.

“You have to get up here. You're bleeding Park, shit,” Miles shouted across the distance, through the stifling fog. 

Waylon could see where the hazmat suit had been slashed and Blaire's blood was flowing. The man was not a threat. Waylon glared as he hobbled over to the kneeling and hunched form of Jeremy Blaire.

“That's it, Park. You help me, I'll help you,” Jeremy said, his words coming slow and measured. 

“I don't want your fucking help, you disgusting bastard,” grumbled Waylon, leaning down to lend his good hand to Blaire. “I'm delivering you to the goddamn police so you can pay for this shit.”

“Yeah, the police...Fucking _die_ already!” growled Blaire. 

The first thing Waylon registered next was Miles' screaming, followed by the pain from the stab into his side. Waylon staggered backwards and gasped for air. He pressed a hand hard to the new knife wound. Waylon glanced up, staring in the direction of Jeremy Blaire, but he couldn't see the sleazy business man. All he could see was a swirling black mass, looming over Blaire as his hazmat suit became saturated with blood that seemed to come from everywhere at once. 

Miles was wrong, that monster was real. Waylon climbed as quick as he could using the last amount of adrenaline possessed in his quickly weakening body. Every labored breath hurt his knife wounds. He crested the wall and found that the ladder on the other side had fallen. He stared at the one story drop. Then he forced himself to fall over the edge. He felt his ankle crack on impact, and he screamed in agony. Miles landed beside him moments later, rolling much more gracefully. The reporter stood up, dusting himself off and immediately checking for the two camcorders in his possession. Somehow he had retrieved the second camcorder Waylon had used from the basement before their flight. Miles cared about the truth more than his own injuries or Waylon's, and the reporter was covered in blood that could not all be from his newly shortened fingers. 

Miles quickly tried to help Waylon to his feet, then gave up and dragged him toward the front gates. Police. Firemen. Scary men in hazmat uniforms. There were tons of people everywhere. Waylon was quickly swept up by emergency medical technicians and separated from Miles. 

“WAY!”

“LISA!” What kind of impossible luck? Soon small, soft fingers laced through his own. 

“Oh Way, I thought you were dead,” sobbed Lisa, refusing to let go of his hand. “Look at how you're bleeding. Oh God, Way.” The emergency medical technicians pushed Waylon onto a gurney then pushed it into the back of an ambulance. 

“Sorry ma'am, only family are let into the ambulance,” said one of the medical workers.

“I'm his WIFE,” screeched Lisa, and no one questioned her further. She was allowed onto the back of the ambulance with Waylon. She softly stroked his hand while crying quietly.

“You're okay Waylon. You're okay,” she kept repeating. Waylon wondered if she repeated it because she herself didn't believe it. It didn't matter. He was not okay. He was as far from okay as he could be.

He overheard the drivers talking as the lights and sirens flipped on. “His wife? Do you believe her? I mean shit, the way he was dressed, I thought we were looking for a groom...”

But there was a Groom. Screaming in the bottom of that basement. “Eddie,” was the last thing Waylon muttered before surrendering to nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The positive comments are such a blessing you guys. Thank you, and I hope you'll stick around because although it seems bad now, this isn't the end...


	17. American Chernobyl

Waylon woke up, thrashing around and soaked with sweat. It was far too hot. There was a tightness in his arm, he quickly confirmed to be an IV. There was a television installed in the ceiling corner and someone had left it on a local news channel. 

“The fires are still blazing and the death toll continues to rise as more bodies are uncovered, bringing the total now to one hundred and seventeen, including the lives of three police rescuers. The investigation is ongoing, and police have not ruled out a terrorist attack...” a woman with large bleached blond hair was talking into the camera. A picture of Mount Massive Shopping Complex was displayed in the corner of the screen. A giant wave of anxiety smashed Waylon like a bug into a windshield. Machines and monitors began to beep obnoxiously. A woman in scrubs walked in, and pushed something through the IV.

The next time Waylon woke, the television was on and he could see a familiar face. 

“Mr. Upshur, you have been instrumental in bringing new evidence against the Murkoff Company. Tell me, how did you come to know William Hope?” a black female journalist was holding a foamy microphone in Miles' handsome face.

“Of course Joy. I was employed with the Post and writing a fluff piece on the Murkoff Company that ran last January. While I was there, I was given a tour and Billy sought me out. Asked for help. And that's when I started trying to help him. After hearing his story, I wanted to do whatever I could,” Miles said. He came across comfortable and charismatic on camera, and when he spoke he gestured with his hands. They were bandaged.

“Why did you want to help William Hope?” the woman asked, switching the microphone back to herself and then returned to Miles.

“He told me Murkoff hurt his mom. That they had him as a voluntary subject, but it's only voluntary if you consider they were paying for his mother's considerable hospital expenses and would cease to do so if he ever stopped being cooperative. They were subjecting him to strange treatments that left him paranoid, delusional, nauseous,” Miles ticked off the symptoms on his bandaged hands and Waylon wondered what he would have done if there had been more than eight symptoms. 

“At first I was skeptical, some kid making claims against this company because he's disgruntled. But even just asking a few questions and making some inquiries had me immediately fired from the Post. Murkoff put up a restraining order against me. The local police warned me to stay away or risk jail. All for asking a few innocent questions like, what is Project Walrider and what is being done to Billy Hope?”

“Waylon!” came a loud gasp at the door to the hospital room. He turned away from the television and saw Lisa wearing her blue hospital scrubs. He could have cried he was so overcome with joy at seeing her again. She ran to the bedside and squeezed him tight, being careful of the tubing and wires still attached. When she pulled back to look in his eyes her blue eyes were overflowing with tears. “You look so much better. I was so worried for so long.”

“Eddie,” said Waylon, noting how the name made Lisa visibly flinch as though he had struck her. “Is he...”

“He can't hurt you anymore.”

“Oh God...” Waylon choked on a sob. “You mean he's...”

“He's at another hospital,” Lisa clarified, still frowning.

“What happened Lisa? Does anyone know what happened?”

“New stuff comes out everyday. The information you got Miles is being thoroughly combed through as evidence against Murkoff. Miles thinks it's over for them. He's really hopeful,” Lisa said, wiping away some tears and putting on a strong face.

“Can I get out of here?” Waylon asked. As soon as he raised his arm, he realized exactly how weak he felt. 

“Soon Way, I'm sure it will be soon,” Lisa said, smoothing his blond hair back out of his brown eyes. Her hand was cool and soft and Waylon enjoyed the contact with another human. “It's been a scary week.”

“Week...” Waylon whispered, mostly to himself.

“What happened to you Way?”

“Funny, that's exactly what we were going to ask,” came a man's voice from the doorway. Two men knocked and awaited permission to enter. The first man had black hair and wore black gym pants and a tight fitting red t-shirt with a v-neck showing chest hairs. The other man had shaggy gray hair and wore western style jeans, a plaid shirt, and suede jacket. “Okay if we come in and ask you a few questions, Mr. Park?”

Waylon's blood pressure spiked causing machines to buzz and beep. The men quickly produced shiny badges and flashed them in his face. “State police. We're just here to ask some questions. We are talking to all of the witnesses and survivors.”

“Did you talk to Eddie?” Waylon asked immediately.

The two men looked back and forth between one another. “I think he means Gluskin. The tailor from the shopping complex.”

The gray haired man nodded at his partner. “No one's talked to the tailor yet. He's still being held under close observation. Not ready to talk.” The two men looked over at Lisa and Waylon. “Do you think you're able to answer a few quick questions, Mr. Park?”

“You don't have to Way,” Lisa said, squeezing his shoulder, “They can come back. You've had a really rough week and you don't...”

“Sure,” Waylon said, struggling to sit up in his hospital bed. Lisa found the control for him and helped him operate the bed. Waylon had never been a marathon runner or weight lifter, but he'd also never felt so helpless. It was frustrating and humiliating.

The two detectives pulled up chairs and Lisa stayed perched on Waylon's bed. “You want me to get you something Way? Water or food?”

“That would be awesome,” Waylon said, giving a weak smile to his friend. Lisa kissed him on the cheek before making her way out of the hospital room. The officers each had notepads in front of them. 

“Alright we are going to need, in your words, what happened that day. As much as you can remember.”

The nightmare felt like yesterday. Waylon had no problem relaying the horror in stunning detail. He told the detectives about Jeremy Blaire, the blackmail and the sexual assault. Assuming Miles had the video footage from that day, there was no use trying to deny what was recorded there. He relayed Billy Hope's part in freeing him from the burnt out church. Waylon clenched the hospital sheets so hard they tore as he described what happened in the butcher's shop. He talked about Miles Upshur and how brave he had been, leading him to safety, fighting off the deranged security guard. But then when it came to the tailor shop...

“I went to find Eddie. He was down in the basement. He was reacting poorly to the smoke. I escaped with the help of Miles Upshur,” Waylon finished up. The two men paused in their writing and looked at one another and then back at Waylon.

“What happened while you were held captive in the basement?” asked gym pants. 

“Eddie scared me. He wasn't himself. Miles helped me get away,” Waylon said, giving a shrug. The gray haired detective flipped backwards through his notepad with a frown on his grizzled face. 

“Mr. Park, we have it on record that you were found wearing a white silk woman's gown, similar to a wedding dress.”

“Eddie likes for me to dress up,” Waylon said, staring at the blankets on his bed as his face went beet red. 

“Okay,” continued the gray officer, “but you were bleeding from a sizable knife wound on your chest and another small cut on your thigh. Miles Upshur attested they were made by Eddie Gluskin.”

“Eddie scared me. He wasn't being himself,” Waylon repeated. He shrugged again as though dismissing the idea that Eddie had hurt him. 

“Mr. Park according to your hospital record, you suffered a dislocated jaw, fractured cheek bone, lacerations to the wrists and ankles consistent with rope bindings, a large bite wound to the shoulder, a slicing wound on your left chest that required stitches to correct, a stab wound to the side, and a broken ankle. And that's not including all the other small cuts and bruises.”

“It was the worst day of my life,” nodded Waylon, being awfully calm about the list of injuries. “Jeremy fucked up my face,” Waylon winced at his own wording, being reminded how Jeremy had also fucked his face, “and stabbed me when I was escaping. The butcher, Frank, bit me. And the other cut was made by Eddie, but it was mostly a misunderstanding.”

The two men were scribbling away and humming to themselves. The black haired detective looked up first. “You were the one that got those files out of Murkoff's system—to Miles Upshur.”

“Yes,” Waylon confirmed, nodding. “I did that before everything melted down. Which, I still have no idea why that happened.”

“That's your friend Hope,” said the graying detective. “Gassed the whole area in retaliation for Murkoff making him a human guinea pig. Not sure he realized that the gas would not be contained in the Murkoff building, but his actions set off a chain of unfortunate events that led you to this hospital room.”

“Is Billy okay?” Waylon asked quietly.

“Missing. You might have been the last person to see him alive. The search for remains is ongoing and the structure fires in the complex made it difficult to identify all the bodies,” confirmed the black haired officer. 

“There were no fires when I was there?” Waylon stated.

“Ayup,” said sweat pants. “Rescue crews entered not long after you and Mr. Upshur escaped. The chemicals are flammable in too strong of a concentration. They managed to rescue Mr. Gluskin and found the remains of Mr. Blaire. Crews received confirmation they had located the remains of Mr. Walker as well before the explosion. Fire took down all the shops in the complex. The fire guys think it originated from the butcher's shop. Someone was operating a microwave that set off a spark.”

Waylon felt rising panic in his chest, mixed with relief. He had not killed Frank, but his entire body shook as he thought about what Frank could have been microwaving.

The men asked a few more questions about his relationship with Eddie, his relationship with Miles Upshur, and all the other tenants in the area. Waylon did not know much else since he had never seen the files he extracted, and the gas cloud had surprised him as much as Blaire's men. The detectives left him their business cards. 

“Think of anything else, don't hesitate to call,” said the graying man as they started to leave.

“Do you think Murkoff will go down for this? I mean, it's beyond fucked up, right?” Waylon called out before the men left. The two detectives shared a look with one another. 

“We're with the State,” said the younger detective. “Colorado isn't going to let some company gas its citizens, turn a whole city block into the goddamn American Chernobyl, and then walk away clean. But Murkoff is big pharmaceutical at its worse. They're in with the Feds. And the local police are practically on their payroll. But look, they definitely won't be setting up shop here anymore. And they will be scrutinized by every news agency in the Western world. Hopefully it's enough to stop something like this from happening again. But only the trial will tell.”

“Will I be asked to testify you think?”

“I would bet money on it, son,” said the older man. They then nodded their goodbyes to Waylon and left. 

Lisa returned with water and a cafeteria tray of food shortly after they departed. Waylon wasn't particularly hungry, but he was starting to feel sore. The worst was his chest and other stab wound at his side. He ran his hand under the hospital gown and felt jagged stitches in both places. There was a thick amount of bandaging over where the cannibal butcher had taken a bite.

“Probably time for your pain medication,” Lisa said, noticing his discomfort. She hit the call button for the nurse. 

“Do you think I'll heal?” Waylon asked, quietly.

“That bite was the worst. It got infected. In and out of a fevered coma, temperature nearing one hundred and five degrees. It was scary shit. I sat here through the nights just making sure you were still breathing. Ice baths. Antibiotics. It was insane,” sighed Lisa. “The knife wounds were clean and no major organs hit. At least you got that mercy. They had to set your jaw. The bruises are already almost gone though,” she said, playing with a lock of his hair. “You're going to be okay, Way. You need to stay off that ankle for a few weeks, and you will have a cast. Then, you can come home.”

“I want to see Eddie,” he said, nodding as though that was final. 

“Just...focus on getting better first, Way,” Lisa said, standing up. “I'm technically on the clock. Maternity is just upstairs. I made them bring you to my hospital so I could monitor you the whole time, even while I was working. I'll be back after my shift, but it'll be seven in the morning.”

“You don't have to stay here all the time Lis. I don't even remember it,” muttered Waylon.

“But I do,” whispered Lisa, barely audible over the ambient hospital noises. “And since when has you not reciprocating stopped me from being there.” Waylon's nurse walked in as Lisa walked out, and Waylon took his pain medications. By the time he was finished with his food, he was ready to pass out. But fate wasn't so kind.

“Oh Way-way!” came a crying high pitched voice that had Waylon's face scrunching up in repulsion. 

“Hi mom,” he groaned, rolling slightly in the hospital bed so that he was facing the window.

“Oh Way-way, I was so scared to hear that you were in this horrible national tragedy! My poor baby. I flew back as soon as I could,” said Min Park. “You look so much better even in the few days I have been in town.”

“Where's dad,” Waylon asked, not bothering to look back toward his mother.

“Way-way! You know how busy your father is with his research. He couldn't get away yet, but he will as soon as he can! You know he loves you and cares about you.”

“Yeah, of course,” sighed Waylon. He finally turned and looked over at his mother. Her short black hair was peppered with gray but her face remained as smooth as he remembered from childhood. “I'm glad you came to visit.”

It was unsettling having his mother in the hospital room. He hadn't spent any considerable amount of time with his mother since high school. His father had pulled strings to help Waylon get into Berkley and never truly forgiven him for dropping out to attend state college with Lisa. Waylon had been adopted by the Korean-American couple late in their life when they already had demanding careers. His parents never treated him as a priority growing up. As an adult, Waylon forgave them for being caught up in their own lives. His mother and father were a team of archaeologists teaching part of the year and traveling through South America studying Incan ruins for the other half. Waylon would not have expected them to bother visiting him. Lisa must have contacted them.

Waylon's mother only stayed in town for four days before returning to her husband, currently working on some dig in Chile. Min Park promised Waylon that his father would call, but Waylon wasn't surprised when the phone call never came. It was alright. He was used to being alone. He was thankful for Lisa, but he missed Eddie so badly it hurt. Sometimes he would think about Eddie's deranged talk about wanting a family, and he felt like maybe they weren't so different. Waylon felt utterly alone.

He tried to get in touch with Eddie. He called every hospital in town asking to speak with Eddie Gluskin, but without a room number or more information no one was allowed to divulge patient information. Waylon wondered if Eddie was trying to call him and encountering the same blockade.

It was almost three weeks in the hospital. Waylon developed a strange new routine. Every morning he woke up, and immediately threw up into the available bedpan. And then there was the soreness. No amount of pain medications could stop the sore feeling in his chest. And the final clue was when his stomach started to bulge, even though he had lost weight and was eating balanced hospital cuisine.

Miles stopped by a couple of times, usually to visit Lisa, but he still stopped in to see Waylon. 

“How did you get out of the hospital so quickly?” mumbled Waylon. 

“I wasn't as bad off as you. Fingers are healing nicely. Sprained my wrist. That's been the worst part really, it was on my jack off hand,” Miles said, holding up his right hand and revealing that he had on a wrist guard as well as the bandages around his hand. “Luckily I am more sexually ambidextrous than I knew.”

“Poor Lisa,” mumbled Waylon. 

“She's been awesome to you through this. I admit, I was a little jealous. I think if you wanted her back she would drop me in a heartbeat.”

“Not true. She likes you a lot. I could tell before all this, and well, trauma tends to bring people closer,” said Waylon, frowning. “I'm getting out soon. I need to see Eddie.”

“You shouldn't talk crazy like that. They won't let you leave if you talk crazy like that. They'll send you to a mental hospital. Behavioral health center, whatever. Those files you got me, they detail out this shit. It's like something out of a Nazi scientist's wet dream. It was designed for chemical warfare. Makes people see shit, get scared out of their minds, nullifying any kind of event. You got an insurgence? Bam. Gas them with this, and now they're all running away crying. Murkoff was trying to spin it like some bloodless way of handling bad situations, but it's fucked up.”

Miles paused to stand up and look out the hospital window. “They were testing it. People like Billy and his mom. Problem was that with prolonged exposure, the effects could become permanent. But that's fine, just don't use it for a long period of time. Oh but one more tiny issue. Ninety-nine percent of people cower in fear and claim to see monsters, but the other one percent...Like flipping on the psycho switch. It tended to be people that were damaged. Tendencies towards violence. Those people didn't run away crying. They initiated the blood shed.”

“I saw the monster though. I saw it hurt Eddie and I saw it hurt Blaire,” whispered Waylon. “I'm not sure but that gas didn't release something truly nightmarish into this world. Maybe it doesn't make people see monsters, maybe it is _real_.”

“And that's another thing you should not tell people if you want to get out of here and not be shipped directly into an asylum,” Miles noted, frowning at Waylon.

“Does this mean I will have permanent problems? Due to all that exposure?” Waylon asked.

“The doctors are still figuring it all out. The good news for us anyways is that not only did Murkoff have this nightmare fuel, they also manufactured an antidote. A little green pill you can take to nullify the symptoms, as long as exposure was negligible. Sadistic fucks were going to make people sick then up-charge them for the antidote. I hope they all burn in hell.”

“No Murkoff employees made it out alive?”

“If they did, they're in hiding and won't ever come out if they know what's good for them. Mount Massive wasn't their only headquarters. Their board of directors is pissing their pants right now. Guaranteed.”

Lisa showed up for her break and Miles went down to the cafeteria with her. They were holding hands and smiling, despite Miles' mangled hands. The pain of missing Eddie was worse than all Waylon's other injuries combined.

A team of doctors and nurses flooded into the room some time later, all smiling and watching Waylon while holding clipboards. 

“So. Mr. Park. Good news!” started the white haired Doctor Fields who was in charge of Waylon's care. “Your injuries are no longer so dire that you need to be in the hospital. That cast has to stay on for another couple weeks, but you should be mobile with some crutches. All of your stitches will absorb on their own. You will need to change the packing and bandage on the bite wound, but it can be done at home. It's the opinion of this team that you can be released. Do you have somewhere to go? Someone to stay with?”

“Yes, I've got Lisa. She's a nurse and my roommate so, that's convenient,” Waylon said as the doctors all scratched their pens in unison.

“Excellent,” Dr. Fields continued. “You have gone through a traumatic ordeal. We are going to recommend that you see a psychiatrist to deal with any anxiety issues that may arise in response to the trauma you've experienced. It's nothing to be ashamed of, and quite expected after this type of tragedy.”

“Okay. I wouldn't mind that,” shrugged Waylon. Maybe he could go to the psychiatrist's office where Eddie went and they could carpool. That sounded nice and the thought made Waylon smile.

“The news of the pill that helps with lingering symptoms caused by Murkoff's chemical mixture brings us to an important point. Murkoff had done extensive testing and documenting of the antidote, but they have shown to be an unreliable source. If you're willing, we can prescribe it to you and you will be part of a trial run for the drug, but as with any trial situation, there could be considerable risks.”

Waylon pursed his lips together, thinking. “I'm not sure I can undergo any experimental drugs at this time.”

The doctor frowned. “I understand you would feel hesitant considering the source and your experiences with Murkoff, but this could be the best way to quickly recover from any residual effects of the Walrider?”

“But can you ensure that the drug is safe for a fetus?” Waylon asked, putting a hand on his stomach.

“Excuse me, Mr. Park?” the doctor asked, staring up blankly as the rest of the attending physicians and nurses scribbled furiously. 

“I'm pregnant,” said Waylon.


	18. Gin-Rummy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay there is a tiny mention of suicidal thoughts in this chapter, so be warned.

The first week at Sandy Branch was nice. The rooms were clean and soothing. Waylon was able to get around well with his crutches and cast. And perhaps the best part were the issued uniforms that felt like comfortable pajamas. After the horrible turn his life had taken, he found it relaxing to be put into a place where all he had to do was wake up and focus on feeling better. If it was possible. 

Waylon was under strict observation during those first days. Everyone seemed to think he was going to harm himself or someone else at any moment. One of the Murkoff survivors the news was constantly talking about. Everyone seemed to know about the disaster. The other patients gave him a wide berth. 

Then there was his therapist, Mrs. Jensen. The woman had the face of a kindergarten teacher, slightly lined but still friendly and bright. Her office had pictures of cats and grandchildren, and the sofa where Waylon was allowed to sit was plush and comfortable. She had an easy smile and soothing voice, and Waylon could see himself liking her in any other circumstance. 

“Mr. Park,” she began on their initial meeting, “may I call you Waylon?”

“Sure...” he answered, trying to find the best way to sit on the couch. He settled on sitting against one armrest and propping his cast up on the cushion beside him to keep it elevated. 

“How are you finding everything, Waylon?”

“Fine,” he said, and when she raised her eyebrows and continued to stare at him he felt pressured to expand, “...good?”

“You agreed to being checked-in at our facility. Why do you believe you need to be here?”

“Oh...I had a bad experience.” Wasn't that part obvious and public knowledge? Did this woman not watch the news? “I think I just need a rest. Somewhere safe that I can deal with everything that happened to me,” Waylon said, looking at his cast to avoid the therapist's stare.

“Medicine can often help in situations like this, but I understand you are refusing to consider any medications.” Waylon simply nodded, still not meeting her gaze. “Is this because you still believe that you are pregnant?”

“I am pregnant,” said Waylon, one hand going instinctively to his stomach which stuck out slightly while seated despite his slight stature.

“And when was the last time you experienced hallucinations?”

“Hallucinations? I don't...”

“You stated that you saw a black, smoke-like monster on the day of the disaster. Have you seen anything similar since that day, or have you experienced any other instances where you saw something that others could not see?”

“What? No. That day I did see a monster. That's what Walrider means, it's a fairy-tale monster, and it's real. It was stalking through the mist. It killed some people. It saved my life maybe,” Waylon immediately regretted his words when he saw the way Mrs. Jensen was scribbling quickly on her pad. It definitely sounded unreal, but Waylon knew what he had seen.

“On your entrance questionnaire, you indicated that you are feeling,” she paused and shuffled some papers around, reading directly from a copy of a form with Waylon's own untidy handwriting, “paranoid, listless, tired, sad.”

“Isn't that normal after being chased by a cannibalistic maniac?”

“I won't argue with you about that. But I will say that these are signs of serious depression and anxiety related to the trauma you experienced. There are medications that could help you with these conditions, if you were willing to take them.”

_But they're not safe for pregnancy_. Waylon didn't say it out loud, but he was thinking it. It seemed impossible, but he had accepted Eddie's seed and gave it a place to grow. What else could explain the litany of symptoms? Waylon was constantly oscillating between starving and sick to his stomach. He threw up at least once every morning. There was tenderness in his chest, even where he didn't have stitches, and his growing stomach. The silence stretched on as Waylon sat, lost in his own thoughts. 

“The orderlies tell me you are still requesting contact with Mr. Gluskin,” said Mrs. Jensen, finally pulling Waylon out of his daze.

“Yes. Eddie. Can I contact Eddie? I don't know if he's out of the hospital yet. I really need to get into contact with Eddie. Let him know that everything's alright. He's probably worried sick...”

“Hmm. You were in a relationship with Mr. Gluskin. Would you describe it as a healthy relationship?” asked Mrs. Jensen.

“What the fuck kind of question is that? Of course it was healthy. I am in love with him,” said Waylon, brown eyes glaring. So what if they both enjoyed it when Waylon would dress up and Eddie would ravish him. That didn't make their relationship unhealthy. “Are you suggesting it's unhealthy for two men to be in a relationship together?”

“Absolutely not, Waylon,” said Mrs. Jensen, her tone still soothing and polite. “Your decision to live openly as a gay man is very healthy, and I agree with your friend Lisa that it was necessary for your happiness. There is nothing inherently unhealthy about a relationship between two of the same gender. But Lisa did tell me that you two experienced some physical altercations.”

“Yeah, we had a fair amount of sex I guess for such a short time together...”

“No, physical altercations as in Mr. Gluskin was physically abusive with you.”

“What? He was under the influence of that disgusting chemical. It makes people go fucking crazy. Why would Lisa hold that against him? He couldn't help what happened. He's probably hurting as much as I am.”

Mrs. Jensen hummed and tapped her pen to her pursed lips. “It's possible his actions those days were prompted by repressed feelings towards your gender. You said he was especially insistent that he “fix” you so that you could bear children. But, I wasn't actually referring to the violent behavior on that day. Before the disaster, had Mr. Gluskin ever been abusive to you? Had he ever hit you?”

Waylon exhaled, frowning. “Once, but that was a misunderstanding...”

“You seem quick to excuse any behavior from your abuser. That can be a coping mechanism of people in abusive relationships...”

“Eddie was not abusive. He was...he was great. I miss him. I want to see him,” said Waylon, threading fingers through his unkempt hair. 

“Mr. Gluskin is in an institution, the same as you. He checked himself in after he was released from the hospital. I am not privy to his reasons or diagnoses, but I can guess he's having to deal with his actions on that day and face the consequences. Assuming he is asking to contact you, his doctors could be discouraging that—just as I am discouraging you now.”

Waylon gave a bitter laugh and shook his head, staring down at his lap. “Maybe this was a mistake. Coming here. What I need most is Eddie, and he needs me. He's alone without family and I was his first friend in a decade.”

“You're here because you are suffering delusions, hallucinations, anxiety, and depression. I'm here to help you feel better, Waylon. Are you ready for your doctor's appointment? I'll be accompanying you.”

Waylon nodded, accepting the help she offered to get him on his crutches, and the pair walked through the white, sterile halls of Sandy Branch, towards the on-site doctor's office. Waylon sat on the examination bed, crinkling the paper covering, and stared at a large monitor where black and white images were being broadcast. As a maternity nurse, Lisa was great at reading ultrasounds, but Waylon could never make out what he was seeing. Grayish blobs on top of other gray blobs. 

“Mr. Park, I'm Doctor Sawyer. I'm sure you remember the ultrasound our technicians originally took upon your admittance to Sandy Branch. I'm going to go over it with you today,” said Dr. Sawyer, salt-and-pepper mustache highlighting his friendly smile.

The doctor had a laser pointer and he used it to point toward the pictures. He began to talk with a monotonous voice, describing everything in the strange pictures. Waylon was squinting, trying to determine what blob could be the interesting part. Maybe that black bean-shaped form was a baby? Or maybe it was on the other picture, the pinpoint of white in the middle of a large, dark gray blob? When Dr. Sawyer was finally done, he put away the pointer and smiled at Waylon. “Are there any questions?”

“No, doctor,” Waylon said, scratching his scruffy chin. 

“Then I hope you can agree and understand that there is absolutely no way you, a man, can become pregnant. You are not currently pregnant. Men cannot carry and birth babies.”

Waylon stared at the pictures for much longer than was appropriate without moving or talking. “I'm not pregnant?”

“No, Waylon,” said Mrs. Jensen, still at his side. “You're not pregnant, you can't become pregnant. Something in your trauma triggered a delusion. A coping mechanism to deal with what happened that day. Some men claim sympathetic pregnancies when a partner is with child, and some women can experience a hysterical or psychosomatic pregnancy showing symptoms while not being pregnant. You somehow exhibited signs of both even though you are male. According to documents from Murkoff, phantom pregnancies were a known side-effect of the chemical you inhaled. It's important for your healing that you understand and accept that you are not pregnant. Do you have questions?”

“Can I talk to Eddie?”

“Once again Waylon, Eddie Gluskin is in a mental institution the same as you, dealing with his own trauma. Despite no criminal charges and the catalyst being a criminal act by the Murkoff company, what happened was still very traumatizing for everyone involved. Mr. Gluskin has to come to grips with the fact that he mutilated and almost killed someone he knew and dated. And that's on top of everything else that happened that day. Mr. Gluskin experienced painful injuries and spent weeks in the hospital, same as you.”

Waylon slouched over deeper as he sat on the medical table. The medical doctor was still watching him with a worried frown.

“It's quite possible that Mr. Gluskin will not want to face you for some time. And even being around one another could trigger an anxiety attack or worse. As your therapist, I do not recommend holding onto any hope of ever being with Mr. Gluskin again outside of possibly reuniting in a controlled setting to confront and move forward with your separate healing.”

“Does Eddie want to see me?”

“If his therapist is worth their salt, they're giving Mr. Gluskin the same advice about you Waylon.”

He nodded and stared down at his feet. He was wearing the comfortable house shoes he'd been issued upon arrival. They looked cheerful, but Waylon felt painfully depressed. “I'm ready to take the meds now.”

“I'm so proud of you Waylon,” smiled Mrs. Jensen. “You're taking the first steps to recovery.”

Lisa and Miles came to visit Waylon as soon as he was granted visitor privileges. Lisa looked like she was about to cry, but she kept the emotion out of her voice. “It's not for long Way,” Lisa said. “Just until you feel a little more stable. When you're ready, we have a room for you.”

“We?” Waylon asked.

“Miles moved in to help with the rent, and he needed a place to stay. But your room is still your room,” Lisa said, nodding. 

“Oh. Right.”

“They gave me a psychiatrist too,” said Miles. “She's alright. Pretty old so there's none of that taboo patient doctor sexual tension. Or is there?” Lisa elbowed Miles in the ribs. “Anyways. Just learn the tools Park. Learn how you can cope out in the real world with what you've been through and then ya know, come back home.”

“Can you guys get a message to Eddie for me? My therapist won't let contact him and he's in a different facility. You guys could visit him and tell him a message for me?” Waylon leaned forward, his eyes getting large and glassy. “Tell him I love him. Can you tell him that I am in love with him. I never told him before. I want to see him when I get out, and...”

Mrs. Jensen cleared her throat. Waylon had honestly forgotten she was in the small visitation room. Lisa and Miles were both looking strangely at Waylon. He sat up straighter and looked at the floor. “Never mind,” he muttered. 

“That's probably enough for one day,” Mrs. Jensen said to the visiting couple. After they were gone she turned to Waylon. “You're lucky to have friends that care about you so much, Waylon. Mr. Upshur's actions on that day saved your life. They want you to get better. You should remember that, and just keep up the good work. You're doing great so far.”

In the first weeks, Waylon's medications were an issue. He was either too anxious, too sleepy, losing too much weight, or a plethora of other side-effects. The nocturnal emissions had been the most embarrassing to discuss with Mrs. Jensen. Especially since Waylon suspected they might only be a symptom of missing Eddie. 

Vivid dreams were another unsettling side effect. Waylon kept dreaming about running away from Eddie in that misty basement until he was caught and stabbed while begging and pleading with Eddie. In the dream, Eddie would drop him to the ground and press his boot to his face right before Waylon woke in a cold sweat. At least he wasn't covered in spunk after those nightmares. Waylon wasn't sure how that would have made him feel.

It took weeks, but eventually Waylon began to feel much lighter and able to face the day with some hope instead of despair.

That's when the intrusive thoughts started. He had energy and a clear head, but all he could think about was how to logically deal with his new situation. His parents did not care about him. His shop was destroyed, rendering him unemployed. Miles was living in his apartment with Lisa and his return would only disrupt their lifestyle. Eddie had attacked him under the influence of some nightmare chemical and now he was forbidden from seeing him again. All arrows in his mind kept pointing toward the same destination. 

“Do you ever have suicidal thoughts, Waylon?” Mrs. Jensen asked out of the blue during one of their sessions. Waylon raised his eyebrows, putting on a mask of surprise. “I only ask because it is a side-effect of your antidepressants.”

Yeah, because Waylon had no other reason to want to end his life. Everything was going great for him and he had a bright future awaiting. It was only the antidepressants that could make him experience suicidal thoughts. In fact, just the mention of suicide had Waylon fantasizing dangerously about getting out of Sandy Branch and walking into the traffic along the busy road he could see from the single window in Mrs. Jensen's office. 

Mrs. Jensen had said that he could tell her everything, but Waylon found it difficult to open up about some things. He stopped discussing how badly he missed Eddie. He left out the fact that nothing could convince him he hadn't seen a black, swarm-like monster in the fog that day. And he wasn't about to admit to having those thoughts.

“Nope. Just regular side-effects. Sometimes it takes me a few seconds to start pissing?” He admitted something embarrassing to convince her that he would tell her anything—to show her he was completely transparent. 

“That's another side-effect,” Mrs. Jensen nodded. 

During those first weeks, Waylon believed his stint at Sandy Branch was going to be pointless. Like a required stamp on his hand to show society that he tried and passed his sanity test. He couldn't be a reliable witness against Murkoff if he was deemed insane, right? Insomnia was another side-effect and a way to avoid nightmares. Waylon stayed up at night, staring at the ceiling, playing out dirty memories of Eddie over and over again in his mind. This place could not help him. Waylon was convinced he loved a man that assaulted him, and had been saved by a black smoke monster. In his heart of hearts he started to wonder if he wasn't really losing his grasp on reality. 

Other than therapy sessions, Waylon was given free time to attend group sessions, art lessons, socializing in the TV room, and freedom to wander the yard behind the protection of thick, concrete walls. Eventually his cast was removed and he also attended physical therapy sessions with a nurse that came from a neighboring rehab facility. Despite so many options, nothing could hold his interest. Waylon became convinced that he belonged under watch, possibly forever. And if that was the case, then he had nothing left to lose...

“I know I saw a monster,” said Waylon, sitting back on the plush couch in Mrs. Jensen's office. 

“Recently?” she asked, her voice never changing from its usual polite interest.

“No. The day of the disaster. There was a monster and it was floating through the fog and killing people.”

“We have discussed this before. I do not doubt that you believe you saw a monster, Waylon, but that was a known side-effect of the Walrider project's chemical composition. In fact, it was the desired effect of the project,” Mrs. Jensen said.

“Yeah, but I saw the monster _do_ things. It wasn't a hallucination. I saw a black form push Eddie and then he was gone. And it came back, after Jeremy Blaire stabbed me. It came back and killed him. I saw it.”

“Do you believe it is possible that this was a side-effect of the chemicals?” Mrs. Jensen asked.

“I believe it's possible that it _wasn't_ a side-effect. It was actually releasing some kind of metaphysical demon or something. Shit, I don't know. All I know is that a hallucinated monster can't physically destroy a man, and that's what this thing did. The Walrider is real.”

“When you witnessed this being, would you say it was always during times of great distress?”

Waylon bit his lip and stared at his hands. He'd seen it wandering the fog—but he had been out of his mind with fear at the time. He saw it in the basement right as Eddie was holding a knife to his balls, and again after Blaire stabbed him. After a long pause he glared up at Mrs. Jensen. “That's an unfair question. Everything that happened on that day after I left Eddie's that morning was a time of great distress.”

“Sometimes, our brain creates another explanation to fill in for something we don't understand. You knew nothing about project Walrider when the disaster happened. You were bombarded with a near lethal amount of a chemical known to cause hallucinations. It's not surprising that you have these memories, or that they seem real to you. But do you really believe there was a monster straight out of a children's fairy-tale haunting the Mount Massive Shopping Complex that day?”

Waylon stared directly into Mrs. Jensen's eyes over her spectacles. “I want to say no, and play it off like I know you're right. But I can't. I honestly believe there was a monster in that fog with me. I saw it kill people. Maybe it died in the impending fire storm that happened, but I think it was there. I'm not sure anything can convince me otherwise.” I'll always be sick, he thought to himself though he resisted telling that to his therapist. 

“Have you discussed that aspect of the day with Mr. Upshur? He was there with you, and acted as your ally and savior. Did he report seeing any apparitions?”

“I,” Waylon stuttered, replaying his most recent conversations with Miles, “I...we never discussed the monsters. I told him about it in the hospital, and he said I shouldn't tell anyone that if I didn't want people to think I was insane.”

“Maybe you and Mr. Upshur should meet up and talk about some things. If you feel you might be ready.”

The next day, Lisa showed up to visit Waylon on her day off. They sat close to one another on the tiny couch in the visitor's area. Lisa always brought cards and they would play gin, similar to how they used to waste time between classes during high school. She was a comfort. 

“Do you think Miles would come to visit me, alone?”

“What do you have to say to my boyfriend that you can't say in front of me?” said Lisa, carefully staring at the ten cards in her hand.

“You still need to discard,” Waylon said, watching Lisa carefully remove a card from her hand. “My therapist thinks it would be beneficial for me to discuss that day with someone else that lived it. Since I'm not allowed to talk to Eddie, I guess I can only discuss that day with Miles.” Waylon picked the queen of spades and immediately tossed it onto the discard pile. Lisa scooped it up immediately, making a happy noise. She always had a terrible poker face.

“I probably shouldn't tell you this, but a letter came to the apartment. It was from Eddie,” Lisa said, rearranging some of the cards in her hand and dropping an ace of hearts.

Waylon froze in the action of retrieving Lisa's discarded ace. “Eddie wrote me?”

“Yeah. Should I ask your therapist about it? I don't want to do anything that can go against what's happening here. I noticed how good you're doing Way. You're brighter now when I visit. And you don't seem as focused on obsessing over Eddie and looking so...scared and paranoid. It was painful to see you feeling that way.”

“Did you bring the letter? Did you read it?”

“See, this is what I am talking about,” frowned Lisa. “You're still weird about him. And of course I didn't open your mail. That's rude!”

“You brought it. Can I see it?” Waylon's hands holding the cards had started to tremble.

“I'll give it to Mrs. Jensen before I leave. I don't want to do anything wrong! What if they stop letting me visit?” Lisa's eyes seemed teary at the thought.

Waylon gave a miserable sigh. No one was on his side when it came to his feelings for Eddie. Lisa had believed Eddie to be abusive before the disaster. Miles knew about Eddie's past, and had witnessed his terrible break from reality that day. Mrs. Jensen believed the desperate attempts to contact Eddie were Waylon's wounded brain trying to deny the horrible things of that day, and attempt to pretend nothing had changed. But everything had changed. 

“I'll talk to Miles. He's really busy with all the press, and now the lawyers dealing with the trial. But I know he wants you to get better. He'll come to talk to you,” Lisa said, smiling. Waylon sighed as he dropped a queen of clubs. Lisa grabbed the card and set her next discard face down on the deck. 

“Gin.”


	19. Real Monsters

“If this is the whole, 'you better treat her right' speech, then I am officially sure you are somehow out to replace Lisa's dad in her life,” Miles said, sitting across from Waylon at a white card table in a sterile visitation room. 

It was over a month before Miles was finally able to come and visit Waylon for their meeting. Waylon was growing more and more adjusted to his life at Sandy Branch. He enjoyed having a schedule and a purpose. His ankle had grown stronger and he began taking daily walks. It was a simple, relatively peaceful existence that left him plenty of time to think—and mostly to miss Eddie. He had been too afraid to ask Mrs. Jensen if Lisa had left the letter from Eddie, and the therapist never brought it up. The surly reporter's visit was a welcome distraction.

That day he was wearing a brown jacket over a blue button-down shirt and khakis. His style had slightly matured since his new rise to notoriety. Waylon wondered how many stylists and reporters had to comment on Miles' usual disheveled style before the journalist made the adjustments. 

“No,” Waylon huffed through his nose like a half-assed laugh, “Nothing like that. I needed to talk to you about...ya know. The whole thing that happened with Murkoff, when we were together.”

“Is that part of your therapy, can't call it what it was?” Miles asked, gray eyes flashing up at Waylon.

“What was it?” Waylon asked in reply. Usually it was Mrs. Jensen answering Waylon's questions with a question, but he used it effectively against Miles. Maybe therapy was paying off in more ways than he realized. 

“The chemical disaster. The cleansing of that fucked up company off the face of the earth. The news is calling it the Colorado Gas Chamber.”

“That seems overly dramatic,” Waylon muttered to himself. “Well, whatever you want to call it. You told me afterwards that the gas, it like, makes you see things. Walrider, right? Some kind of monster from a fairy-tale?” Waylon said.

“That's what their research said and it seems true. You should know that better than anyone,” said Miles. His face was practiced as though the subject bored him. Waylon grew suspicious.

“See, that's why I needed to talk to you. I need to know,” Waylon paused, licking his lips as he considered his wording,”...what did you see?” Waylon looked up slowly to meet the reporter's gray eyes. Miles leaned forward with his elbows on the table and fingers forming a steeple in front of him. Waylon's eyes couldn't stop the automatic flicker to glance down at the man's damaged hands. The nubs were healed save for the angry scars. At least most of Waylon's scars were hidden and would heal completely. Miles had lost a bit of himself during the disaster—quite literally.

“Monsters,” breathed Miles, his gray eyes becoming soft and haunted. Waylon's heart began to beat so loudly he wondered if the other man could hear it in the small room.

“I swear—or would have sworn, that is, that I saw a demon made of black mist tear Jeremy Blaire apart. You tell me it's the chemicals. Doctors tell me it makes people hallucinate. But it seemed...” Waylon had to stop, taking in a stuttering breath. “It seemed real Miles. And Blaire was definitely murdered. His blood was everywhere. So much blood.”

“He was defending that disgusting company that caused the disaster. He stabbed you. He deserved what he got,” said Miles, clenching his damaged hands into fists on the table. 

“Then what happened to him? You're sure that you did not see anything supernatural happen to Jeremy Blaire?” Waylon asked quietly.

Miles met Waylon's questioning gaze with a serious expression that chilled Waylon's blood. Miles' eyes shifted around the room. The facility provided private, unobserved visitation rooms, but the reporter was always cautious. “Nothing supernatural happened, Park. I told you, I saw monsters. I saw a man claiming to be a doctor while torturing a patient and clipping off a couple of my fingers. I was chased by a giant brute intent on ripping my head off with his bare hands. I rescued you from a man that had you tied to a table in a wedding gown and had sliced open your chest. And then I saw Blaire, sitting there only out to protect himself and his company. When he lunged at you...I lost it. It's blurry, I don't really remember.”

Waylon had been listening the entire time with wide brown eyes. “Miles, what are you saying...”

“I don't know what it means. I didn't hallucinate. I didn't see any smoke monsters or demons or anything other than just fog and maniacs. Maybe that lame doctor's mask I found at Trager's was somehow impenetrable. Or maybe I'm one of the other group. The group that reacts differently.”

“Are you saying that...that you killed Blaire?” Waylon barely registered that he was the one that had spoken.

“I ran up to you and the next thing I knew I was covered in his blood and he wasn't moving. I didn't have time to question it, and I didn't give enough of a shit about that asshole to stay behind and find out. I followed you up the ladder.”

“No one's questioning you? You're not under investigation or...”

“People did fucked up shit during that gas storm. It's proven clinically. And the fires burned away most of the evidence. I don't remember what happened, it was like I checked out for a few minutes. Even if I was to talk to someone about it, what would I say? I feel like maybe I killed some people in self defense during this national fucking tragedy?”

“But don't you feel...”

“Let me and my psychiatrist talk about how I feel, Park. I wish I had taken care of Blaire sooner, maybe you wouldn't have taken that wound,” he said, gesturing a hand toward Waylon's abdomen where a jagged scar was hiding beneath his comfortable clothing.

“You aren't to blame, Miles,” muttered Waylon. “You were protecting yourself and me. And possibly the chemicals were affecting you. Who knows.”

“There were real monsters there. People turned into monsters by some company that thought they could contain something that terrible. Should have been shut down at the beginning when they saw the side-effects. They're done now. When the trial happens, Murkoff will be found guilty no doubt.”

“Yeah...” Waylon said, staring off away from his friend. “Miles, if you did things you couldn't really remember or control, is it possible it was the same with Eddie?”

Miles dropped his head down and put his forehead in his hands. “Lisa's worried about you. Thinks you and Gluskin were already in an unhealthy relationship. I agree with her on that point actually.” He looked back up to stare down Waylon. “How many red flags do you need to see to know a relationship with that man is a bad deal?”

“Lisa sure is lucky to be dating a relationship specialist,” quipped Waylon. A surge of indignation was rising to the surface and it made Waylon feel combative towards his fellow survivor.

“He's not right in the head,” Miles continued, “he's been to a mental hospital. He may be released but you can't escape that kind of mark on your record,” Miles said, biting his tongue as he realized the implication. Waylon was currently in a hospital for his mental health as well. There was an uncomfortable silence as Waylon glared at Miles. “You're different than him,” Miles mumbled.

“No one will let me contact him,” Waylon said, allowing all of his bitterness and loneliness to infiltrate his tone. “But I think maybe he is like you. He did things that day but he wasn't fully in control. I want to try to mend things. If being around him isn't detrimental to his own healing, why can't we be together?”

“Then you belong in here, Park. Because that's fucking mental.”

“How can you say that? You committed...” Waylon paused and dropped his voice lower, looking around the still empty room and licking his lips, “...you killed Jeremy Blaire.”

“Trager too for all I know,” said Miles. His tone was so casual Waylon had to fight a wave of nausea. “And so what? It was self defense, obviously.” Miles wiggled his eight fingers for dramatic effect. “I didn't kill the security guard but I he was chasing me when we went into that gymnasium where he ended up walking into an industrial fan programmed to switch on during an emergency situation. That was just bad timing for him.”

“All Eddie did was have a scary break with reality where he wanted me to be a female...”

“That's a funny way to say he tried to hack your dick off,” Miles interrupted.

“You were actively contributing to the end of people's lives,” Waylon continued, ignoring Miles' interjected insult. “And you still say that he's not deserving of understanding? But you are?” 

“What are you saying, Park? Want to accuse me of something?” Miles asked, gray eyes narrowing.

“No. Not at all. I just,” Waylon sighed and pushed his hand back through his hair. It was getting long but he didn't care enough to get it cut. “I just wish there was a way to get past this. Really get better. Talk to Eddie again and hear his side.”

“You can do better than that psycho. According to news reports, he's claiming to not remember anything. I remember that day—it wasn't a complete black out for me. He's in an institution under lock and key. Nothing like this extended stay vacation. You should press charges and try to keep him there,” said Miles. 

“Your dosage was considerably less than his lengthy exposure, don't you think? Dammit Miles, you're a hypocrite. I don't think you should be locked up—I just think that Eddie should be given the same freedom.” Waylon could feel his hands shaking and knew he needed to get out of that room. "Thanks for coming, Miles,” Waylon muttered, standing up and effectively putting their meeting to a close. 

“Feel better, Park,” Miles muttered before Waylon could completely exit the visitation room.

The meeting with Miles took an unexpected turn. The monster hallucinations that haunted his dreams were not real. It truly was all a side-effect. And Miles had received an even worse side-effect—his conscience now weighed down the the fact that he had caused men to die. Even if those men had been trying to kill him—and one of them had been Jeremy “The Devil” Blaire.

Waylon worried about Miles. Had he confessed to anyone else other than Waylon? Miles never took the time to reflect and work on himself after the ordeal. As soon as he was released from the hospital, Miles was being interviewed for the news, writing editorial articles about his experience, and Lisa mentioned he was even preparing a book about the ordeal. Then again, they were different people. Maybe moving on quickly was the only way Miles knew to deal.

Waylon was not the type of person that could just pick up and continue on as though nothing had happened. After a while at Sandy Branch, Waylon was on a nice blend of medication that kept him feeling level. The intrusive thoughts decreased substantially. Waylon's therapy focused on learning tools to cope with stress and anxiety, as well as confronting what happened to him that fateful day in August. 

Waylon had been a shy and nervous kid, but he thought he had outgrown it. After the tragedy, Waylon easily became panicked and anxious, especially when recalling the events of that fateful day. He chose not to look at any of the media coverage of disaster for many months. The facility assisted him by ensuring he didn't happen into the television room and see his face on the screen. 

Getting better was the most important thing. Waylon focused on his therapy and accepted the fact that he would more than likely be haunted by that day for the rest of his life. No amount of therapy would ever stop the nightmares. He had to work through the sexual trauma, the physical attacks, and scars deeper than what's visible on the surface. Waylon forced himself to listen to buzz-saws. The first time he'd undergone this type of therapy, he had wet himself at the first whirring sound. Eventually, he was able to manage with breathing techniques and then desensitization as the exercise continued. No matter how many times he tried, he could not bring himself to walk outside on a foggy morning. Good thing he had always been an inside kind of guy.

As the months passed, Waylon was feeling much more comfortable. He answered the questions about Eddie the way he believed Mrs. Jensen wanted to hear. He claimed he no longer felt like he was in love with Eddie. He wrote mock letters to Eddie forgiving him for what happened. He wrote that he hoped Eddie could find the same sort of closure and forgiveness for himself. None of the letters were ever sent, and the letter Eddie had mailed was still not mentioned by Mrs. Jensen. 

“I want to see some of the articles about what happened,” Waylon said one day during a regularly scheduled session. His therapist did not look shocked, rather she nodded and smiled.

“That's a big step. You're sure you are ready?”

“Yeah,” said Waylon, his fidgeting hands giving his nerves away. “It's been months. Is it still in the news?”

Mrs. Jensen hummed, finding a small key on her key-ring and opening a file cabinet behind her. “There are some mentions but nothing like the twenty-four hour coverage of those first days.”

“I saw some news in the hospital,” Waylon said. “Does everyone know what happened now?”

“There's plenty of speculation. Until the trial, I doubt anyone will know all of the facts. There's too much active investigating going on. You haven't talked to your friend Miles about it?”

“No, Miles hasn't been visiting me lately...” Waylon said. He had not told anyone, even Lisa, about the last visit with Miles, but the reporter still kept his distance under the guise of being too busy. Mrs. Jensen retrieved a thick file from the cabinet and dropped it on the table in front of Waylon.

“You're welcome to read whatever you like. I made sure to keep anything I thought that might interest you. You were on the cover of _Time_ magazine,” Mrs. Jensen said, offering a supportive smile.

Waylon Park: Man of the Year. Wouldn't someone have informed him if he was on the cover of _Time_ magazine? Mrs. Jensen slipped the magazine in question out of the file and pushed it toward Waylon. There he was, one arm draped over Miles' shoulder, wearing a dress that was soaked with blood to the point that it appeared to be half crimson and half white. The tall wall surrounding the Mount Massive Shopping Complex loomed behind them, and the top of the noxious smog cloud visible lurking over the top. The title stated in bold letters: The Colorado Gas Chamber Survivors.

“You know, maybe I don't want to know what the news is saying about me,” Waylon lamented, burying his face in his hands. America had seen him wearing a dress. No wonder his parents weren't visiting. Could Dr. Park even stand to admit he was related to the dress-wearing survivor of the melodramatically named “Colorado Gas Chamber.” 

Waylon flipped through a few of the files. There were articles printed from the internet, clipped from newspapers, and torn out of glossy magazines. Mrs. Jensen had been thorough in keeping track of the incident for Waylon. He supposed he should thank her for being so thoughtful. Then a familiar face had Waylon pulling out a magazine article. 

Eddie had finally broken his silence and spoken with the press about his ordeal. The interview focused on what Eddie remembered from that day and how he was recuperating now that months had passed. Waylon quickly scanned the article. It painted Eddie as having benefited from the time in therapy, and Eddie described the tragedy as waking up from a horrible nightmare and finding out everything that had happened was real. The end of the article stated that Eddie had been released with doctors' permission and would be testifying at the trial.

Then there was the picture. It definitely was not staged. Eddie was frowning profusely. Waylon couldn't stop the hurt from showing on his face. He knew how much Eddie disliked being photographed, and he knew the tragic reason why. Eddie was standing next to a man in a suit. The man appeared to be in his early thirties with a slick haircut and his arm was laced through Eddie's. Waylon had merely nodded as though the article barely interested him. He made one final glance to take in the picture's caption. Gluskin with his partner, Taylor. 

“I was wrong. I'm not ready to read all of this yet,” Waylon said, his voice just above a whisper. He replaced the articles and closed the file. 

The next visit with Lisa revealed even more information about Eddie. “Yeah he's out. Miles actually saw him the other day. The lawyers are getting their official statements all sorted out for the trial. Man, it's going to take forever to get this thing to court, there's almost _too much_ evidence against these assholes.”

“Miles saw Eddie?! Did he say anything about how Eddie looked? Did he look happy?” Waylon asked, not wanting to directly ask about whether or not Eddie had mentioned a new relationship. Knowing for sure would make the loss too real and Waylon was not ready to let go.

Lisa chuckled to herself. “Miles was impressed actually. Apparently, Eddie actually shook his hand and thanked Miles for shoving him off of you. He ended up falling on some exposed rebar things, almost completely impaled through his shoulder. He was in the hospital almost as long as you were. Miles said he talks with a lisp. I never remembered that before...”

Waylon didn't know what to say. Eddie was out and collaborating with Miles on the trial. Waylon would be part of the trial! Surely they would need to get his own statements soon, and he would run into Eddie. “Do the lawyers need to see me?”

“Oh don't worry about that, Way. They do, but they know to keep you away from Eddie. They'll probably do your interviews here at the Branch. They want you to be comfortable,” Lisa said, gently.

“Of course,” sneered Waylon. “I'm so fragile. Need to protect my delicate mental state. I _want_ to talk to Eddie. Why all the roadblocks?” He's already moved on anyways, Waylon thought, though he did not say that to Lisa.

“Your dad called the other day,” said Lisa, completely changing the subject.

“Really?” Waylon asked, genuinely surprised. “He called the apartment?”

“Yeah, he wanted to talk to you and explain why he couldn't come to visit you. He told me to tell you that he hopes you're feeling better. He seemed to believe you were still in a hospital rather than a mental health facility. Oh, and he wanted me to tell you happy birthday.”

“Not surprising. Only a couple months late,” sighed Waylon. He scooted closer to Lisa on the couch and rested his head on her shoulder. “You are the only family I have, Lis.”

“I'm not going anywhere, Way,” she promised softly.

Almost nine months total had passed before Mrs. Jensen broached the subject of contacting Eddie. 

“You know Mr. Gluskin wrote you during the first months of his therapy. He mailed the letter to Lisa and she entrusted me with it. I have not read it, but I did not feel it was the right time. Now that you have finally put your unhealthy infatuation behind you, maybe you'd like to read what Mr. Gluskin had to say?”

Waylon was shocked. The subject of contacting his ex-boyfriend and attacker had been off the table for so long. “You think it's wise?” Waylon asked, still in shock. He didn't want to appear too eager lest she withdraw the offer. If magazines were printing pictures of Eddie and his new partner, maybe Mrs. Jensen felt it was finally safe to allow Waylon to read the note. 

Mrs. Jensen gave a small smile as she reached for her keys. She unlocked a shallow drawer on her desk and retrieved a small letter. The stationary was powder blue and had been hand addressed with a script that Waylon recognized immediately. A warmth grew in his stomach remembering the other notes Eddie had written him regarding his sexy gifts, and even the ones pleading his forgiveness after the unfortunate slap. He was frozen with anxiety as the envelope was offered to him. He stood up and walked to the desk, his limp almost unnoticeable after so many months. 

“Can I read it now?” he asked, staring at the envelope in his hand. 

“If you would like. It is yours, you're welcome to keep it.”

Waylon pocketed the note, preferring to read the letter in the privacy of his own room. As soon as he was inside with the door shut, he sat on his thin mattress and carefully pried the envelope open, not wanting to damage any of the precious writing. He pulled out a piece of stationary sporting an official seal from some institution. “Lone Mountain Asylum.” Waylon tried to decide if that sounded better than Sandy Branch Behavioral Health Center.

_Dearest Waylon,_

_Words cannot express how sorry I was to hear about the events of August fourteenth. It wounds me to think that you were hurt, and knowing I was responsible makes it infinitely worse. I hope you can forgive me. I'm staying in a facility under doctor recommendation until it's certain I will not have a relapse due to the chemical exposure. I think of you every day. I long to apologize to you in person and will contact you the moment I have been discharged._

_Yours Truly,  
Eddie_

It was so like him to be so formal. Waylon felt slightly disappointed. No insane declarations of love or exaggerated statements of missing him. Eddie's letter seemed smart. Safe. Maybe he wasn't as bad off as Waylon was following the disaster. Waylon hoped that was the case. He hoped that Eddie had managed to move on and find some happiness—even if it was with his new partner. 

The next day, Mrs. Jensen asked about the letter and Waylon had allowed her to read the contents. He was finding sharing intimate details with his therapist much easier after so many months. He hoped she would not suspect that the crumpled state of the letter was due to Waylon holding it against his chest while masturbating furiously the night before. 

“He says he'll contact me once he's out, but according to that article you let me read, he is already released,” said Waylon.

“He's been contacting the facility for weeks now. Since his own release, it seems. He's made several attempts. Do you feel you are in a mindset to meet with him to achieve some closure, and possibly...”

“Yes,” said Waylon, immediately hating how eager he sounded. He'd worked so hard to make Mrs. Jensen believe he was indifferent to Eddie. “I just mean, that, seeing him in person and knowing he's not suffering or a monster would be beneficial to my healing...” Manipulative. He felt sure she noticed as she stared him down with her cold hazel eyes. 

“Very well, we will set up the meeting,” said Mrs. Jensen. Waylon's heart ached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for delay. Was aiming for another double update, but I'm getting antsy waiting so instead here's one. Next chapter: Eddie finally comes to visit, and Waylon is getting out finally so it's moving forward I promise.


	20. So Silky

Eddie walked into the visiting room, looking as handsome as ever with his black hair slicked back and recently trimmed. He smiled at Waylon, as though the distance had never happened and they were still a couple. Waylon couldn't resist the urge to walk up to him and touch his face and hair as though he were an apparition, in danger of disappearing at any moment. Still so irresistibly attractive. “Eddie,” breathed Waylon.

“Darling,” whispered Eddie against Waylon's throat as he leaned in and began to kiss and nibble along the skin there. “Why did you wait so long?”

“I don't know,” whined Waylon, throwing his arms around Eddie, desperate to get some sort of friction between their bodies. “I thought of you everyday.”

“You filled my every waking moment,” growled Eddie, pushing his hips into Waylon's as they continued to kiss and grope one another. “I missed the feel of you in silk.”

“God have I been craving a nice pair of satin panties,” groaned Waylon, grinding his hips into Eddie's, not even flinching at the dainty word. He was desperate to feel proof that his lover missed the feel of their bodies colliding. “Dress me up for you. Make me yours.”

Waylon's lusty pleas were cut short as his eyes met Eddie's, only to see they were blood red around bright blue, with ruddy tears leaking down his face.

When Waylon woke up with come soaking his underwear, he felt extremely guilty. The meeting with Eddie was scheduled for later that week and the dreams—no, nightmares—had been nonstop.

Did Eddie want to see him for some kind of apology and closure? The letter seemed to suggest that was the main reason. Did he still have any feelings for Waylon? What about that handsome young man he was photographed with in the article? Maybe he had come to say goodbye because he had already moved on. No matter the reason, Waylon was insistent on making a new memory so his last mental picture of Eddie wasn't him in the grips of a delusion, trying to hack off Waylon's manhood. 

The day finally arrived and Waylon was beyond nervous. Mrs. Jensen called him in to tell him that Eddie was ready and waiting. Waylon felt his senses seize with fear. Luckily, the therapist had planned ahead for the meeting. She led Waylon into a small room with a large window that looked into another, comfortable meeting room. There was Eddie through the window. Waylon's mouth dropped open as he stared.

“It's a special window. All he can see is a mirror. He's been made aware that you may choose to observe and given his consent. You can take all the time you need.”

Waylon walked to the window and stared at the man sitting in the room. The vest, the bow-tie, and the tailored slacks were familiar. He had not expected Eddie to wear anything less formal. His hair was still in an undercut he had slicked back for the occasion. His face though. The last time Waylon had seen Eddie's face, it had been a horror. The day of the visit it was all healed scars and bloodshot eyes. He recognized the expression on Eddie's face. It was the same one when he was pleading with Waylon after their altercation in the bedroom. Eddie was afraid; nervous. 

“Mr. Gluskin would understand if you needed extra time, or if you were unable to make this meeting Waylon,” offered Mrs. Jensen.

“What? No! I need to talk to him,” said Waylon, his voice rising several octaves. Everyone had been fighting for so long to keep them apart. It ended today. “I just need a few seconds. That's all.”

“Waylon, you are shaking,” said Mrs. Jensen calmly, stepping to his side. “Are you feeling okay? Are you going to be ill? What are you feeling?”

Waylon watched Eddie sit in one of the plain chairs, staring at the simple table. Occasionally he would look up at what was a mirror to him and Waylon could almost swear they were making eye contact. And it was the feel of that imagined gaze that closed Waylon's throat with fear. 

He could still feel the terror he had been trying so hard to overcome. The day he had looked up from the table and seen a parody of his lover's face. As he stared at Eddie that day with his new scars and worried eyes, Waylon could almost see the monster from the basement. The man downstairs. The thing below. Waylon knew he had to fight through that fear if he wanted to talk to Eddie again. He needed to talk to Eddie and this was his first chance in over ten months.

He could barely believe it when Mrs. Jensen was there instructing him to relax and breathe. Her hand against his felt hot to the touch, alerting Waylon to exactly how cold and clammy he had grown.

“You're obviously not ready for this Waylon. You were brave to try. I am sure Mr. Gluskin will reschedule. Maybe you should sit down. I would hate for you to fall and...”

“No, I,” Waylon shook his head. “I _can_ do this.” And yet his hands were quaking. Mrs. Jensen looked into his eyes and whatever she saw there seemed to frighten the usually unshakable therapist.

“You are allowed visitors Waylon and I would never force you to refuse unless I thought you were in danger of causing yourself harm...”

“Harm? What....what harm?” Waylon's voice cracked as he tried to prove that he was calm. Collected. He could do this. Mrs. Jensen gently took his wrist and he looked down not even realizing that his hands had been clenched and blood leaked out from shallow cuts made by his nails digging into his flesh. “What....fuck.”

“I'm pulling the plug on this Waylon. We can attempt another meeting soon. When you're feeling better?” Mrs. Jensen gave an understanding smile as she walked out of the small room and closed the door behind her. Waylon flew to the window, staring longingly at Eddie. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he just go in there? He needed to call Mrs. Jensen back; he would _demand_ the visit continue. She had no right to send Eddie away. Waylon was not in any danger!

The door opened in the small room and Eddie stood up abruptly. They were across the room from the window, but Waylon could see lips moving even if all sound was muted. Mrs. Jensen spoke with Eddie, probably letting him know that he could not meet with Waylon that day. Eddie nodded politely and gave a forced smile. She nodded to him and then walked outside the door. Eddie retrieved his heavy wool jacket from the back of a chair and shrugged into it, a momentary expression of pain on his face as he adjusted the fit. Waylon felt voyeuristic watching his lover look at the ground and sigh. The impact of that sigh had Waylon's eyes stinging. 

And then Eddie walked in the opposite direction from the door and leaned his shoulder against the mirror. “Waylon?”

Waylon froze, unsure what to do. Mrs. Jensen had told him Eddie couldn't see him. Had she lied to him? Was Eddie looking right at him this entire time?”

“Waylon. If you're there. I've been on both sides of this type of mirror in the past. Maybe you're back there. If you are, I just wanted to say, I'm so sorry.”

“Eddie,” Waylon said in his normal speaking tone to the window, slapping his bloody palm to the glass. The way Eddie turned toward the mirror and pressed his forehead against the surface with a shuddering exhale indicated he had heard. 

“I know you're hurting,” Eddie said. His words were muffled but with is face against the glass Waylon could hear them clearly. “If the best thing I can do for you is to stay away, then I will stay away. It was selfish of me to try to force you to face me. I just miss you so much, darling. I hope you can feel better.”

Waylon closed his eyes, pressing his own face against the glass where Eddie had. “Don't leave. I'm feeling better now. Eddie...” When had Eddie moved? Waylon slammed his palm incessantly against the window leaving red palm prints on the clean glass. “Eddie!” The door was shutting in the other room. Waylon ran to the door of the observation room, turning into the hall and calling out.

“EDDIE!”

“Waylon, he's being escorted back out. You need to rest,” said Mrs. Jensen and an orderly, blocking Waylon in the hallway. “Is this really how you want Mr. Gluskin to see you after all these months? You're pale, sweating, and your eyes...”

“Fuck you,” Waylon said to Mrs. Jensen before turning and shouting down the hall, “EDDIE!”

Mrs. Jensen just shook her head sadly as Waylon was led away by two muscular orderlies. “I will talk to pharmacy about something to help you relax.”

Waylon cried in frustration as he was led back to his room in Sandy Branch, away from the man he still loved. He had not wanted it to go that way. Why could he do nothing right?

Despite Mrs. Jensen's original stance that Eddie would be understanding and reschedule, he instead became unreachable and no follow up meeting was scheduled. Waylon's depression in the following weeks was stifling, but he also was able to recognize that being in Sandy Branch was no longer what he wanted for himself. Sure he was bound to make mistakes and get scared and have bad episodes on the outside, but at least he would not need constant supervision anymore. It was time to start planning his real exit from the facility.

Lisa brought over a book of crossword puzzles like the ones she loved to buy at the airport the times they had traveled together. Waylon always thought they were lame, but he appreciated her efforts. The visit had particular meaning because it happened on August fourteenth—a year since the original disaster. Waylon found it difficult not to think about fog, blood, and Eddie. 

Lisa sat flush against Waylon on the tiny visitation room sofa. She smoothed down unruly strands of Waylon's growing hair. Her hugs were a little too long.

“What will it be like when I'm out living with you and Miles? Are you guys a happy couple? I've only seen you here,” Waylon says. 

“Yeah, we're happy,” Lisa said, nudging her shoulder into Waylon's on the sofa. “You'd like him too. He's an interesting guy. Very funny sometimes”

“Maybe you two will get married.”

“Maybe,” Lisa agreed, sighing as she stared down at a half completed crossword puzzle. “Maybe I'm over marriage for the time being. I've been burned before.”

“Oh hush,” grinned Waylon. “It's been a year and a half now. You're in a committed relationship. You don't get to guilt me about that anymore. There's gotta be a statute of limitations.”

“There is, it's just way longer than a fucking year and a half!” snapped Lisa. “What's one year compared to twelve?”

“Well, I'm glad you're happy,” said Waylon, desperate to change the subject.

“Do you ever miss it sometimes, a little bit, when we were more than friends?”

Waylon gave a bitter chuckle. “I thought about it on that table, when Eddie was out of his mind. If I'd just married you and stayed blissfully ignorant at the hospital, how different my life would have been.”

“Wow,” sighed Lisa. “So marrying me would have been slightly preferable to having your dick cut off by your boyfriend. Glad it meant so much to you Way.”

“You know what I meant,” groaned Waylon. “I meant I do think about it still, at important times. You're important to me. I love you, Lis.”

“I love you too Way. I want you to get out of this place. You seem stable. So much better from last year. I miss having you around. Miles is actually not a bad cook, he's good at anything unhealthy. You're going to love it.”

“Soon Lis,” Waylon said. “In the mean time, I need you to do me a...uh,” Waylon was stuttering and blushing like he had when they first started dating in middle school, “personal favor.” 

“Is this going to be another Eddie thing?”

“No, this isn't really about Eddie. I'm doing this for me. I need you to buy me something very specific, and have it mailed here. Can you do that?”

“Anything for you, Way.”

-x-x-x-

Despite having told Lisa he thought his stay at Sandy Branch was coming to an end, Waylon was surprised when Mrs. Jensen broached the subject days later. 

It was difficult after almost a year to think about leaving the comprehensive routine of the Branch. Waylon was comfortable there; safe. He was granted ground privileges and had taken up running. At first, it was physical therapy to help his healing ankle, but then he had kept up long after the worst of the pain subsided. Waylon was in great shape and had continued his hobby. 

The day finally came when Waylon packed up his bags and said farewell to the patients and staff that had known him best during his time at the Branch. He was allowed to sign himself out, with doctor's approval. Mrs. Jensen had not rushed him. The State was covering the bill considering the trauma he'd endured. He hoped they were paying for it directly from the seized monetary assets from Murkoff. The trial was looming closer.

Waylon knew if he did not get out of the hospital soon he might miss his chance to watch the trial and testify in person rather than via video recording. Lisa kept him updated on all the progress Miles and the lawyers were making. When the day came that the trial had a date and time, Waylon decided it was the right time to resume his life. After a year at Sandy Branch, Waylon walked out the front doors and into Miles Upshur's red jeep. Finally. Home.

The apartment was nothing like he remembered. Everything he owned had been relegated to the cramped guest room, and mementos of Miles' accomplishments decorated all the living areas. Waylon's laptop had been confiscated as evidence somehow. He sat around watching reality television all day, and attending his therapy sessions three times a week.

The lawyer representing him was a beautiful woman with natural red hair and freckles named Patricia. She seemed too nice to be a lawyer, but Calvin, the bastard representing Miles, made up for her friendly demeanor. Waylon was having to spend much more time alone with Miles as roommates and witnesses for the trial. The reporter still managed to avoid any conversation beyond the trial or the weather.

On Lisa's first day off from the hospital while Waylon was back at the apartment, she woke up and convinced Waylon to start drinking at eleven in the morning. They watched daytime judge shows and played a drinking game where they had to take a sip anytime someone on the program said something to the person they were against instead of directly to the judge. They both had to take a lot of sips. 

During a commercial break and following a couple beers, Lisa turned to Waylon with a devilish smile on her face. “Are you wearing them?”

If Waylon hadn't had two beers, he could have diverted the question, or at least played dumb. But it had been months since he had partaken in so much as a sip of alcohol, and it really wasn't recommended that he drink on his medicine. His flushed cheeks got somehow pinker and he grinned down at his lap.

“I knew it,” laughed Lisa. “Did I get the right size? You'll probably notice there are a couple sizes because I didn't know what size you would be.”

“The sizes were fine. I can tell some are smaller, but they still fit,” Waylon admitted, clearing his throat to hide his painful discomfort at talking about it with his friend.

“Let me see.” Waylon did look surprised at that. Lisa threw her hair back and laughed. “Oh don't give me that, I had to go and buy you satin lingerie and mail it to your hospital. I want to see. Did you like the colors I picked out?”

“Very nice,” Waylon mumbled quietly. 

“What color are you wearing today?” she asked, scooting closer to Waylon on the couch and reaching for his zipper.

“Oh my God, you are being serious? You want to see my underwear?” Waylon asked, still confused and sobering up fast. 

“Oh, what's the big deal. You like men, I'm with Miles, and it's nothing I haven't seen before. Well, I mean, it's exactly something I haven't seen before which is why I want to see it. But seeing you in your underwear. I mean, we were engaged and then we are still roommates. You used to get your first cup of coffee in only your boxers.”

“Yeah but that's...boxers,” Waylon bit his lip and Lisa laughed at his shyness.

“Show me, and I will tell you a secret. It's a good one,” grinned Lisa. 

“You are a ridiculous woman,” laughed Waylon.

“It's about Eddie...” Lisa continued, the devious smile growing on her face. 

“Hmm. I suppose one little peek is innocent enough...” Waylon muttered, standing up and undoing his fly. He pulled his jeans down to his mid-thighs exposing that day's dark red satin underwear and turned toward Lisa. “Tada.”

“Oh man,” breathed Lisa. “I really thought it was going to be funny, but it's actually pretty awesome.” Her smile was fading and a look of curiosity replacing it. “Silky. You look so silky.” Without asking, Lisa reached out a hand and felt the silky fabric on the front of the underwear. 

The fabric happened to be resting almost directly over Waylon's sleeping member, but the traitorous appendage twitched at the sensation having been denied a touch other than his own for too long. Waylon was quickly coughing and pulling his pants back up. Somehow he was thinking about Jeremy Blaire. The intrusive memories of the shame and disgust returned like a flood.

“That...probably isn't proper roommate behavior anymore,” said Waylon, breathing heavily and feeling suffocating embarrassment. His brain was in a panic. Would he always be triggered by sexual contact as innocent as a curious touch?

“Does that mean I don't get to see the matching top?” Lisa asked with a wide grin. Waylon's angry stare made her drop her eyes and blush. 

“Sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” said Lisa, looking guilty. “I meant it though. That is pretty hot. How do you even keep those underwear on when you get h...”

“We're done with this conversation,” groaned Waylon, returning to his seat on the couch and directing the attention back to the court show. Their relationship had always been a little strange. Waylon just hoped that Miles wouldn't show offense. He had told Waylon in the hospital that he was jealous of Lisa's attention to her ex-fiance.

“But I still need to tell you a secret,” grinned Lisa. “I happen to know that Eddie Gluskin meets with the lawyers before you and Miles. That's why Miles always drives, to ensure Eddie's not there and you don't have any panic attacks. Miles said it was some kind of arrangement or understanding between him and Eddie.”

“That...that makes no sense,” mumbles Waylon, running fingers through his messy hair. “Miles hates Eddie, why would they have any contact?”

“As witnesses for the prosecution, you are all using the same layer group obviously. It makes sense you would have to see one another. But Miles said they made the arrangement so you and Eddie wouldn't have to meet.”

“Eddie doesn't want to see me,” Waylon says, his voice growing suddenly thick.

“I don't know. Miles is uncharacteristically quiet about the whole deal. That's why I thought you should know. I mean, it's just information. Miles never swore me to secrecy about it, but he also never told you himself.”

“It's been entirely too long since Miles and I had a talk, just the two of us...” Waylon mumbled. All the talk of impropriety was forgotten when Waylon grabbed Lisa's face and kissed her firmly on the lips. “Thank you, Lisa.”

It was difficult to catch the reporter alone. Miles was constantly rushing around dealing with lawyers and the press. When Lisa was around, the two were always laughing and talking or watching television together. And almost every night, Waylon had to slip on his headphones to block out the noises coming from his former bedroom. Lisa wasn't even the problem—Miles was extremely loud and talkative in bed. Waylon felt embarrassed at how arousing he found the reporter's husky bedroom voice through the wall. It solidified in Waylon's mind that he was going to need to find a new living arrangement once the trial was over. 

Waylon waited until Lisa left for her nursing job before casually entering their shared living room. Miles had a slew of articles strewn about the coffee table and a thin laptop in his lap where he was clicking away at the keys. Waylon figured he was working on his novel.

“Hey Miles,” Waylon said brightly. “Mind if I sit?”

Miles only grunted, barely looking away from the screen until Waylon settled his ass on the couch directly on top of a pile of printed pages. “Hey hey! What the fuck!”

“Lisa told me you met with Eddie,” Waylon said, his tone serious and brown eyes staring down Miles. “You've seen him. But you keep me away. You going to tell me what that's all about then, Miles?” 

“I was doing you a solid,” Miles replied. “You would be better off without him showing back up in your life, undoing all the progress you've made...” Miles had his hand half under Waylon's thigh trying to pry the papers out from under the other man.

“You don't know anything about my progress. You stopped even coming to visit me!” sneered Waylon, coming to his feet in the living room and glaring down at Miles.

“He almost killed you,” Miles spat back, standing up to meet Waylon's stare. Miles was only slightly taller than Waylon. “He's toxic! And you,” Miles laughs under his breath, “you're a fucking mental patient. You don't know what's best for yourself.”

Waylon had never punched anyone in the face before, which explains why he missed. He still managed to make his point as Miles dodged and stared with shocked gray eyes. 

“Whoa! All this for trying to help you! I saved your goddamn life—from Eddie Gluskin—and you attack me when I try to keep him away from you.”

“Miles,” Waylon says, his voice deceptively low, “You, better than anyone, know what it was like that day. You know what it was like to lose control. If I need to be afraid of Eddie for what he did to me, then I should be triple scared of you for what you accomplished on that day.” Waylon had to stop to collect his thoughts, though he never broke eye contact. “And I'm not ashamed that I got help. You need help Miles. That baggage you're carrying around is going to wear you down. I'm not afraid of you, even after what I saw that day. And I'm not afraid of Eddie.”

It was perhaps an oversimplification. Waylon was a little afraid of Eddie. He was not sure what he would do if he had more time alone with the man that he simultaneously feared and loved.

“I...” Miles sank back down on the couch, elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. “Sometimes I still feel like...I don't know. I feel like maybe that chemical isn't all the way out of my system and I could forget myself again and wake up to find Lisa lying dead in the kitchen.”

Waylon's eyes went wide as he slowly sank onto the couch next to Miles, the papers crunching under him. He did not know what to say. Waylon put a comforting arm around Miles' shoulders, most of the anger draining out of him as he did. The reporter seemed unresponsive for several seconds.

“If I feel that way sometimes, maybe Gluskin does too. I manage to control it, but what if he can't?”

“I'm going to see him at the trial. You can't keep me away from him forever. And you don't have to feel this way alone Miles. You can talk to someone, and you can tell Lisa. I can tell she loves you very much.”

“Can you please get off of my official statement,” Miles said. Waylon was confused for a moment before remembering the papers he was crumpling under him on the couch. 

“Sorry,” Waylon said, moving over and removing the papers. He handed them back to Miles with a sheepish grin, noting their many wrinkles and creases. “I uh, thought you were working on your book.”

“No,” Miles said, ripping the papers out of Waylon's hands. “I'm getting ready for the trial. We leave first thing in the morning—Lisa's getting off of work early. Make sure you're well rested. It's going to be a long day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, no one hates that chapter as much as I do, so there's another after this and I promise it's better.


	21. Be Reasonable

The only experience Waylon had with trials, lawyers, and court was watching daytime judge shows with Lisa. He felt extremely out of place as they checked into their Denver hotel. He was sharing a room with Lisa and Miles, who promised not to “make it weird.” (Lisa's words) Waylon wished he had Eddie's fashion sense. His only suit was years old and he hadn't worn it since the funeral for Lisa's father. He knew that because the program for the funeral service had still been tucked in the pocket. 

Miles was extremely busy with interviews. Every major news channel wanted to get his take on the situation, as the reporter that broke the story and a witness of the disaster. Lisa had taken a considerable amount of vacation time to make the trip. She had insisted on going so she could provide emotional support for both of her boys. Miles did not seem to care for the term, but Lisa was a difficult woman to dissuade.

It was unseasonably warm and the cool rain from the night before was evaporating, creating a hazy morning. Waylon froze at the front door to their hotel. 

“I can't...”

“Way,” said Lisa, squeezing his hand. “You can do this. We're just going to the courthouse it's really close..”

“But, I just can't...” 

“Suck it up, Park. Or do you not care what happens to Murkoff—the people who made you this way?” asked Miles, giving a steady gray stare. 

“I can come later. I don't need to be there for opening remarks. I'm not even being called to the stand today...” Waylon tried to rationalize his intense desire to flee back into the safety of his hotel room. This fog was different. There was nothing sinister about it. If only his rational mind was in control during times like these. 

“It's a short ride before we are there. The car will be waiting all day if you need to go back,” Lisa said where only Waylon could hear. She gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “You can do this. Opening remarks are important. We have to hear the ridiculous arguments Murkoff has dreamed up.”

Waylon swallowed hard and then steeled himself before stalking out the door of the hotel. The car was waiting out front and it was a very short drive, though he did keep his eyes down in the car to avoid having to stare into the foggy void outside the windows. Waylon managed to relax slightly, until he caught sight of the hoard of people mulling around on the courthouse steps between large white pillars. The car stopped and let them off at the corner and fear of the fog had been fully replaced by anxiety about the throng of reporters. Once the trio came into focus, the cameras began to flash. Waylon began to panic anew.

“I...I can't. I haven't talked to the press. I don't want to talk to them. Miles!” His voice had raised several octaves. Part of him hated how weak he was coming across, but he felt helpless. All he could do was push through and use his coping techniques. Just breathe. 

“I got this,” said Miles. “Go around to the other side. Jerome and the other lawyers are around here somewhere. I texted them when we left. They know you aren't ready to talk to the press. Just push past and go toward the side entrance. Someone should be there waiting for you and will help you.” Waylon could tell by his tone that Miles was struggling to remain patient. But at least he _was_ trying. Impatience was an improvement to his usual open disdain. 

“Miles! Miles! Mr. Upshur! Do you have a comment before the trial! Please! Mr. Upshur!”

The voices all became one deafening din. Waylon ducked his head against the onslaught of flash bulbs. Miles stalked directly toward the cameras and microphones, one hand firmly dragging Lisa with him. “I'll handle the reporters. Get inside,” Miles instructed Waylon.

“See you inside Way!” Lisa called after him as he had already started on a beeline for the door.

Waylon was separated from Miles and Lisa as he rushed toward the doors. He had no interest in talking to any press. The lawyers had warned them, but they had seemed to think it would be a very small problem. Behind the swarm that had engulfed Miles and Lisa, Waylon encountered even more flashing lights. 

“Mr. Park! Mr. Park! Can we have a statement? Mr. Park, are you testifying today? What are your feelings on Jeremy Blaire? Did you know Murkoff was experimenting illegally while you were employed there? Mr. Park? Waylon!”

Waylon was sweating and frowning. He had no comment. Why were all of these cameras taking his picture? Where would they end up? The internet? Some magazine? The hard-drive of some Murkoff file system keeping track of his every move. He recognized the feeling of fainting as his vision turned into a tiny dot and his body felt numb and cold. He had felt that way when he passed out in that hellish basement...

He would have landed face down on the marble tiles if someone had not walked up and shielded him from the cameras while pushing him forcefully toward the doors. Waylon's feet followed blindly. He did not even stop to breath until he was past the doors and waved through a private doorway that lead to the private rooms for those associated with the trial. Once inside, Waylon leaned forward with his hands on his thighs, sucking in air. 

“Credentials?” asked a gruff voice. Waylon looked up meekly and found himself face to face with a uniformed police officer for the courthouse. His hands fumbled for the lanyard around his neck containing his photo-identification for the trial. The officer took the laminated ID in his hand and stared back and forth between the picture and Waylon before scanning it with a hand-held scanner and nodding his approval. “Welcome Mr. Park,” the officer said politely. “Credentials?” The second inquisition was targeted at the person that had come to Waylon's rescue.

“Sorry,” Waylon panted, still gazing at the ground. “I just...it's so foggy and...” Waylon stopped trying to explain and just focused on regaining his composure. He cleared his throat and stood upright. Then his heart stopped.

“Welcome Mr. Gluskin,” said the security officer.

Eddie. It had been his large form blocking the press and leading him to safety. They were standing in the same space together after so many months. When Waylon finally found the courage to glance upwards he saw Eddie watching him with concern plain on his face. Waylon could not tear his gaze away from those blue eyes that haunted his dreams. Not blood red this time—lined with worry instead. The security guard had moved on with his duty, oblivious to the strange stand off happening in the hallway.

“Waylon,” Eddie said to break the uncomfortable silence. His face was tense but his blue eyes were pleading. Waylon could not tear his eyes away from the sight of his long lost boyfriend.

“Eddie,” breathed Waylon, a slow smile appearing on his face. The earlier panic seemed distant when he was looking at Eddie wearing his dark woolen overcoat and a fine vest and slacks peeking out underneath. His hair was the same but his face was still changed from the aftermath. 

“I'm sorry to drag you in here, I just thought you...”

“Thank you,” said Waylon, staring at Eddie. “You saved me.” Eddie frowned at the choice of wording. “I'm so sorry Eddie. I'm sorry I did not meet with you that day you came to visit, and Miles was keeping us from seeing each other at the lawyers' office and then...”

Eddie silenced Waylon with a raised gloved hand. “After everything, you are here apologizing to me? Darling, be reasonable.”

Waylon laughed, and strangely it might have been the first genuine laugh free of self-loathing since he was admitted to Sandy Branch. 

“Are you...” Waylon started before he could stop himself, unsure what he wanted to say to first, “...how are you, Eddie?” That's what normal people said when greeting one another, right? Waylon needed to remember how to be normal.

The doors opened behind them and more personnel filtered in through the door. 

“Why don't we move out of the hallway?” Eddie said, distracted by the new noises echoing through the courthouse corridor. He began to walk and Waylon immediately followed him. There was no fear that Eddie would lead him somewhere unsafe, and it was not just because of the heightened security surrounding the day's ordeal. Waylon was relieved to know he did not feel afraid, at least not at that time.

Eddie knew the way to the room set aside for the prosecution and their witnesses. The room was blessedly empty. Everyone was probably out dealing with the media frenzy out-front. It was not cold inside, but Eddie made no move to take off his coat. He stood stiffly near the door watching Waylon as he walked deeper into the holding area. There were tables, chairs, and closed circuit televisions that were currently showing a mostly empty courtroom with random people walking through. Waylon began to feel uncomfortable under Eddie's unwavering stare.

“I'm fine, thanks for asking,” Eddie said, and Waylon was lost for a moment until he remembered that he had actually asked a question before they had relocated.

“Oh,” Waylon responded, pushing his chin length hair back behind his ears as he submitted to the scrutiny. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You look...” Eddie stopped himself before he said whatever had been on his mind. Waylon's brow scrunched up in confusion. “It's just been so long,” Eddie finished with a small shrug of his large shoulders beneath his coat.

“I know,” Waylon said, resting against a table in a half seated position without ever breaking eye contact. 

“I had heard you suffered an injury to your leg...”

“Yeah. Yeah, but it's mostly better. Healed up and only a slight limp if I overexert myself.” Waylon's tone was light and casual. Just two guys chatting about the events on trial that day like everyone else. Except their stiff postures and strained stares spoke of something different. “All of my injuries are healed.”

A pained look flashed on Eddie's face at the mention of his other injuries. Fuck. Was it really going to be like this? After all this time and the longing and wanting they would sit here uncomfortable avoiding sensitive subjects? Waylon pushed away from the table and walked into Eddie's personal space, noting the way the larger man straightened his back as though preparing for some kind of attack. 

Waylon reached a hand up slowly, studying the damaged side of Eddie's face. “Does it hurt if I..”

“No,” Eddie whispered, still watching Waylon warily. Waylon nodded before gently sliding the pads of his fingers over Eddie's skin. That day in the basement, Eddie's face had been covered with so much blood and weeping fluid that Waylon could not tell how extensive the damage had been. It was later reported that when the gas came out in concentrated amounts it was in danger of condensing into a liquid which acted as an acid to human skin. Eddie must have taken a direct hit from the gas at some point. Now his skin was forever dimpled and scarred. 

Waylon gently traced along the silvery pink and white ridges on Eddie's forehead, cheek, nose. He had not noticed when Eddie had closed his eyes. They were both so different after a year, but one thing definitely had not changed. Waylon was dying to kiss those scarred lips. When he ran his fingertips across Eddie's mouth, the taller man sighed and his lips parted slightly. Oh God. Could he? What would Eddie think if he were to lean slightly forward and...

“Hey! Ed! Looking for you,” came a male voice walking through the doorway. Waylon quickly withdrew his hand and stepped to the side. Eddie turned around and the newcomer stopped in his tracks.

Waylon's stomach churned uncomfortably and his face looked suddenly guilty. He recognized the slicked back blond hair and the striking jaw. The article's picture caption had named him...

“Sean Taylor. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Park. I've heard so much about you,” said the handsome professional holding out a hand. Waylon gave a curt wave instead of accepting the offer.

“Everything okay here?” Taylor asked.

“Of course, darling,” Eddie said, giving a tight smile. Darling. Oh... Waylon turned away from the other two men in the room. He had known for a while that Eddie had a new partner. He should not be so surprised that the man would be here at the trial. 

“I'm right across the hall,” said Taylor. “Just yell if you need anything Ed.” Waylon did not turn around for several moments. He forced himself to breathe through his nose. Turning into a crying emotional mess before the trial even began was definitely not the best way to start the day. He turned around and saw that Eddie was watching him with a curious look on his face.

“Waylon, are you alright?” asked Eddie, stepping closer to the obviously agitated man.

“Yeah,” he said, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand in the most inconspicuous way possible. “So, Taylor err Sean?...is your new...” Waylon intentionally left the sentence open ended. Partner? Lover? Boyfriend? What if they were even more than that? It had been months since Waylon had seen the article...

“Lawyer. Yes,” Eddie said, his face still concerned as he frowned at Waylon from across the room. “Newest partner at the firm. You're working with Patricia I believe?”

Waylon dared to meet those too blue eyes. “Only your lawyer?”

Eddie stared at Waylon in confusion for several moments, and then a smile slowly pulled up one side of his mouth. “Darling. Are you jealous?”

Waylon tilted his chin up trying to look indignant, but it did not work. Eddie laughed and the sound was as infuriating as it was heartwarming. With quick steps Eddie closed the space between them and wrapped his strong arms around Waylon. The smaller man nuzzled his face into the wool of Eddie's overcoat, returning the embrace by sliding his arms around Eddie's neck. “There's only you,” Eddie whispered into his hair. Waylon pressed his face harder against that coat, rubbing his face against Eddie like some kind of stray cat. He got lost in having Eddie hold him again. 

Fingers through his hair brought Waylon back to the present. Eddie's hands threaded through his blond hair with a tender touch as though afraid of breaking a single strand. Waylon finally pushed away from Eddie's warmth enough to speak.

“Why didn't you come back to visit?”

“I could not stand the thought of causing you more distress, darling. After everything I had already done...”

“What do you remember?”

“Nothing. You. I remember waking up next to you. Watching you sleep. You make this noise, it's kind of between a snore and a wheeze...”

“Lisa always said that,” chuckled Waylon against Eddie's chest. “What about immediately after? What's the first thing you do remember?”

“I woke up in a hospital. I was being chemically restrained for everyone's protection. I was confused. I demanded to see you. They told me I hurt you. No one would tell me how badly. I was...”

“They kept me away from you, too. I told them I needed to see you. No one would listen. And I was...well, I had some...I mean, I was not really myself...” Waylon was not sure he wanted to tell Eddie about his pregnancy scare in the hospital, nor about the hallucinations he had believed until he learned the truth from Miles. 

“There's no shame in getting help,” Eddie whispered, his hands petting Waylon's head in a soothing gesture. “I was just so worried about you. I hated to think you might be angry with me, hating me...”

“Never,” Waylon said, squeezing his arms tighter against Eddie. “Everyone tried to tell me you were bad for me.”

“They are probably right,” Eddie said, his voice full of disgust. “I'm the only survivor that reacted... differently than intended by the chemical.” Waylon bit his lip, glad Eddie could not see his expression. Eddie was wrong on that point, but Waylon could not really get into that yet. “They told me I was a danger to you, and I still reached out. I still wrote you. I tried to visit. But I still don't know, sometimes I feel like...”

Waylon remembered hearing the same type of words from Miles. “It's almost over now Eddie. They're going to find those bastards guilty and then we can get on with our lives and...”

“Oh, darling,” whispered Eddie. A gentle hand tilted Waylon's face upwards as Eddie pulled away just enough to angle their faces together. Waylon had just started to close his eyes when...

“Get away from him, Gluskin.”

“Way, we were looking everywhere! They had a separate room for us if you would feel more comfortable...”

“Fucking get away from him,” Miles ordered again. “Are you ready for what's about to happen? Are you morons even aware of what's going on today? Quit thinking with your dicks for five minutes.” Miles pointed with his nub of an index finger at the closed circuit television now showing a full courtroom with lawyers and the jury taking their positions and awaiting the judge. 

Eddie refused to back off, instead tightening his grip on Waylon's arm. Waylon felt a small fluttering of fear, but he remained calm.

“That's right. We're here for a trial that's going to decide our futures. And they're going to be dragging up every thing that happened. Every. Single. Horrific. Detail. There's no way in hell I'm allowing Waylon to sit in a room with the man that tried to chop his dick off while that happens.”

“ _Miles_ ,” admonished Lisa. “Stop it, you're being a bigger problem than Eddie right now.”

“Then you get him to come. Make him see sense. There's separate rooms for a reason. Who knows how much of this trial is going to be upsetting to these two mental...” 

“Miles,” Lisa snapped again, her face morphing into something angry and feral. “That's enough. Go wait in the room.”

The reporter started to say something, but one look at Lisa's glaring dark blue eyes sent him out of the room with an irritated huff like a toddler throwing a tantrum. 

“I'm sorry Eddie,” Lisa said, addressing the larger man first. “Waylon can be...unpredictable. It was really a decision made out of consideration for both of you. You're free to met up after the proceedings. I won't let Miles interfere. He'll be too busy fixing his hair for the cameras anyways.” Lisa shifted her gaze to Waylon as she spoke gently, “The decision is yours Way. Wherever you want to stay.”

Waylon wanted to insist that he would be fine, but he knew Lisa was speaking the truth. He was unpredictable, at best. What if he had a nervous break down in front of Eddie? God, that would be humiliating. Eddie's eyes were glued to the screen as everyone stood for the judge. 

“I won't send you away, but I won't make you stay either,” Eddie whispered to Waylon. It was a difficult decision. He did not want to lose any more time with Eddie, and the way the man was gripping him said he felt the same way. But did he really want Eddie to see him as a shivering, panicked mess?

“I'll see you soon. Don't leave without seeing me?” Waylon said, putting a hand over Eddie's where it was gripping his arm. “Today is going to be difficult for me...”

“Of course, darling,” Eddie said, releasing his grip with a barely audible sigh. Waylon looked back right before he walked out the doorway and saw he was still being watched and the look on Eddie's face. Well. Maybe things had not changed as much as Waylon feared.

The other room was almost identical to the room where Eddie was waiting. Waylon and Lisa joined Miles at a table nearest the television. Lisa leaned forward and turned the volume up slightly. The prosecution was taking the floor to give their opening statements. Taylor was actually the main speaker and he looked very professional in his charcoal suit and slick blond hair. 

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the Murkoff Chemical Company created a compound they knew to be dangerous, and they continued to test it on humans. They tested this compound on paid volunteers, on subjects forced into cooperation, and even on unaffiliated innocents not aware of the dangers. The world saw the destruction unleashed by the Walrider project on August fourteenth. The wreckage shocked and terrified the world—but the Murkoff Chemical Company knew of the side-effects, the potential dangers, and the severity of the situation once containment was breached...”

The opening statement continued to detail the crimes Murkoff had committed. Waylon zoned out during some of the technical jargon. Gross Negligence. Blackmail. Fraud. Corporate Responsibility. Waylon got the feeling that the prosecution was secure in their stance. Murkoff Chemical was definitely guilty, and now it was only the simple matter of parading out all the evidence and witnesses to make it official in the eyes of the law. 

It sounded good; airtight. The documents Waylon had extracted were proof of what had happened. After all the witnesses testified and the documents and video footage were reviewed, it was impossible for Murkoff to walk away. Waylon could barely make out on the television screen a man so elderly and gnarled he was sitting in a complex wheelchair that seemed to be keeping him alive. “Who's at the defendant's table?” Waylon asked as Taylor continued to outline the prosecution's intended plan.

“Wernicke,” Miles said, not taking his eyes away from the screen. “He's Murkoff's CEO, but the post has been more honorary than anything else considering...well, I mean, look at him.” Truly, Rudolf Wernicke looked one hundred and twenty years old, spoke with a thick German accent, and his family had strong ties to the Nazi Party. No wonder the papers were already calling him “The Crypt-keeper.” Murkoff was definitely falling behind in the court of public opinion.

Waylon hummed in agreement. Even if Wernicke's mind was still sharp, someone that immobile and decrepit would probably have difficulty managing an international chemical corporation as large as Murkoff. Taylor continued to talk directly to the jury. 

There was a murmur when Taylor finally finished his speech and took his seat at the table. Then a statuesque woman with short cropped black hair and alabaster skin walked onto the floor in front of the jury. 

“Helen Granat, attorney for the defense. The prosecution, like much of America, is quick to blame the big guy and vilify corporations. The truth is, Murkoff Chemical Corporation saved the town of Leadville in the sixties when they moved their company here opening up new jobs and opportunities and drawing in a new intellectual crowd that quickly grew to include local libraries and universities. Murkoff is a local hero in addition to all they have accomplished worldwide.”

Waylon could not stop the deep frown on his face. Miles openly cursed at the image of the defense lawyer detailing all the virtues of the Murkoff Company in front of the jury. Helen Granat painted a different picture entirely of Murkoff Chemical, the worldwide corporation busy helping bring water to third world countries and new drugs to a world constantly demanding new and better medications. She even indicated that Project Walrider was about developing a pill that aids patients suffering hallucinations.

“Are you fucking kidding?!?! God, I can't wait to watch these assholes burn...” Waylon hissed at the television. 

“The person to blame for the unfortunate accident on August fourteenth is one rogue executive, a Mr. Jeremy Blaire. Blaire acted on his own self interests against the order of the board of directors and CEO. He was in league with other outside parties and attempting to morph Murkoff's helpful drug research into a chemical weapon. He acted alone.”

“Only after the events of that day did certain aspects of Mr. Blaire's personality become apparent. The man had money problems, and a drug habit, that were all not known by superiors and in fact Blaire actively covered them up through falsification of records. Jeremy Blaire is the true criminal, and he expired on that fateful day along with many innocent people.

“In addition to the illegal actions of one rogue employee, the event was also caused by the terrorist actions of a single disgruntled employee. William Hope released the chemical as payback for what he viewed to be injustices against him perpetrated by Blaire acting alone. The Murkoff Chemical Corporation is already working hard to clean up the fall out from that fateful day, and will continue to do so, but the tragedy is placed fully on the shoulders of a young man with a vendetta and a rogue employee acting against company orders. 

The lawyer continued to drone on in a professional way about corporate liability when an employee does something against the knowledge of their employers. “Is that even an argument they can make? What the fuck,” muttered Waylon.

Once the statement was complete, Waylon, Miles and Lisa fell silent for several minutes. Everything had seemed so cut and dry. The odds had seemed innumerably stacked up in the prosecution's favor. After their agenda was made clear, Waylon felt his first twinges of worry. He was thankful that there was a call for recess and they could all relax for a few minutes. 

“Jeremy Blaire...there's no way he was hurting for cash,” said Miles. Waylon had gone rigid. The mention of the man that had violated him were causing him to feel uneasy. Was that why Blaire had been hounding him and causing him pain? Was Jeremy Blaire an out of control executive committing crimes outside the line of work for his own gain? Is that why he had forced Waylon to suck him off in a burnt down church while strapped to a chair?

Lisa noticed the distress and moved to wrap an arm around Waylon. “Way,” she whispered into his flushed ear. “Way it's alright. They had to have some kind of argument, otherwise they would just be rolling over and settling outside of court. Come on Way. We're good.”

But Waylon did not feel good. He was nervous because he knew what was coming next. The prosecution would make its case, and the defense would seek to tear it apart. Witnesses would be called. Waylon was a witness. It was a strange feeling that he simultaneously wanted to run to Eddie, while also never wanting Eddie to see how unstable he had become. 

“I'm not sure I can stay...if the first piece of evidence is...”

“Everyone here knows about the video, Waylon. We know it's painful, but it's necessary evidence. It shows first hand how Jeremy Blaire blackmailed you into playing along. It shows him committing personal crimes against you. The press won't see it. Only the jury and those allowed to watch the footage such as the lawyers and some witnesses that needed to verify portions of the footage.” 

“You've watched it?” Waylon asked, the question directed at the reporter.

“Of course,” said Miles with a 'duh' look on his face. 

“They showed all of the witnesses and prosecution team, Way,” said Lisa, squeezing him gently. “We all want to get justice for what happened to you.”

“Justice? He's already dead,” hissed Waylon. Miles had killed Jeremy. He knew that now. 

“Yes, but his death doesn't help you. This company is going to pay you, Way. You'll be a millionaire. But first, we have to prove they are guilty. And this is strong evidence.”

Waylon sighed and hid his face in his hands. Had Eddie seen the video? Did he know that Waylon had...that Blaire had...

The recess came to an end and the prosecution paraded out a collection of professional witnesses to authenticate the video evidence recorded that day. The team set up the video equipment and pointed the screen at the jury. Waylon felt nauseated. They started with his own footage. Of course the camera turned on when Waylon was already tied up in the chair. Though he could not watch, he forced himself to listen to Jeremy Blaire talking down at him, and watch himself give in so easily. Too easily. Why had he not even tried to fight?

_Smile pretty for the camera._

Waylon ran out of the room. He ran until he was in the hallway and there he saw a tall figure wearing a long woolen coat. Eddie.

“You're not watching,” Waylon asked, pain obviously in his voice.

“I've seen it, darling,” Eddie breathed, casting understanding blue eyes at the smaller man. The one man he could trust that had experienced sexual assault was right in front of him. Waylon walked up to Eddie, slid his arms around his waist, and whimpered softly. 

“I should have told you. About the pictures,” Waylon said though his voice was thick. 

“Everything you did was to protect me. I would have rather had our home movies broadcast to the world than cause you any harm, but you know what they say about hindsight,” Eddie said.

“You don't hate me for what I did?” Waylon asked, not daring to look up at Eddie.

“Hate...you? Because someone assaulted you and threatened you with blackmail? Oh, Waylon...”

“I can't be here while they are watching this,” Waylon said. He knew that his sexual assault was only the beginning. Would they show all of his footage? Would they show Frank Manera sawing off a woman's leg, or Eddie tying him up in the basement? “I'm staying at a hotel down the street. Come with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so "better" was a relative term. But there's only 2 more chapters and an epilogue left so, resolution is at hand.


	22. On The Record

The hotel room felt entirely too small with Eddie standing there so broad and tall in his overcoat. The heat was suddenly stifling. Waylon wondered how Eddie wasn't sweating. The room was typical hotel. There were two double beds separated by a nightstand, a bathroom, and a sitting area complete with television and a lumpy couch. The cleaning crew had already visited, thankfully, and the room was clear of clutter and all the suitcases hidden away in the closet. 

“You can take off your coat,” Waylon offered as he walked over to the couch and picked up the remote. The last station had been the live broadcast of the trial and a reporter talking in front of a background of the courthouse immediately sprang onto the screen when Waylon hit the power. For a few moments Waylon was distracted by footage of Miles talking to the cameras with Lisa by his side, holding his hand. Her eyes never left his face as he spoke, and Waylon wondered if Lisa had ever looked at him like that. Like he was the only person in the world.

A soft grunt drew Waylon's attention as he turned to see Eddie struggling slightly to take off his coat. The larger man managed after some obvious discomfort, then proceeded to fold the garment over his arm and set it on the back of the couch. He noticed Waylon's concerned look and gave a shy grin. “My shoulder. It's healed up just fine. But I lost some range of motion,” said Eddie. 

Waylon did not know what to say. His shoulders slouched as he considered Eddie's wound. It had obviously been a serious injury, but Waylon had not known the outcome of Eddie's healing. “I'm...” Waylon inhaled sharply to keep himself from saying it. _I'm sorry_. What a worthless thing to say at a time like that. Minutes before Eddie received that wound, he had been slicing him open. Waylon was not actually sorry that Miles had saved his life. He was sorry that any of them had to suffer at all. It was a pointless sentiment. Waylon instead just looked at Eddie and shook his head sadly.

The television once again drew Waylon's attention when he heard his name on the news anchor's lips. 

“...the video evidence being shown to the jury depicts the brutal sexual assault of Waylon Park who was spotted entering the courtroom this morning. It is strong evidence that Jeremy Blaire committed blackmail against tenants of the Mount Massive Shopping Complex. Whether or not these actions were supported by upper management or happened during the normal course of business remains to be proven...”

The television went black. Waylon was confused for a moment until he turned and saw Eddie with his hand gripping the remote so hard it was surely painful. 

“Eddie...”

The taller man turned his back to Waylon and let the remote drop to the floor. “I'm...I'm sorry darling. I'm not sure that I want to hear that right now...”

“Is it because...” Waylon started.

“No. It's not you. I just...thinking of that day is very stressful for me. I get so angry and I can't stand to think of what could happen...if I was capable before...I don't even remember...”

Waylon walked to Eddie and slid his arms around his waist, resting his head on his broad back between his shoulder blades. “What happened was not your fault. A chemical company broke a million laws and then catastrophic failure led to all of us being dosed against our will. It's not your fault...”

“You were scared, darling. You saw monsters. I don't remember anything, but there I was on video threatening to....and then I...”

“I've been thinking about this shit, and talking about it with my therapist for so long. I just don't even want to think about it right now. I know this trial is hard, I almost couldn't make it in the damn door today, but at least...I don't know. At least some kind of justice. And of course,” Waylon tightened his grip around Eddie. “...you're here.”

“You should not even want to be within one hundred feet of me. You definitely should not want to be alone in a hotel room with me,” Eddie said.

“Yeah well, I'm mentally unstable, don't you watch the news?” grinned Waylon.

Eddie craned his neck around and gave a disapproving frown to the smaller man clinging to his back. “You know better than to say that...”

“I'm just trying to lighten the mood. I know what happened that day. I know better than you. And I'm here, and I'm only slightly nervous, and not even afraid that you will hurt me. More afraid that...”

Eddie untangled himself from Waylon's arms to look into his eyes and found he was avoiding his gaze. “You're afraid?”

Waylon looked down between their bodies and nodded. “Afraid you're not going to want me anymore. I'm a mess. Damaged goods. I'm afraid of rejection...”

“You are none of those things,” Eddie said, tilting Waylon's chin up and forcing him to hold eye-contact. “I spent the last year certain you would never want to see me again. It never occurred to me you might be afraid of the same thing.”

Waylon chuckled and nuzzled his head into Eddie's chest. “No one's going to understand as well as you. It was different for Miles. He's so focused on revenge, I think it's all that's fueling the man right now.”

Eddie huffed softly into Waylon's hair. “I'm not betting on revenge.”

“How can you say that?” Waylon asked.

“Murkoff refused all offers to settle outside of court,” Eddie said calmly as if that explained it. When Waylon's expression did not change, he continued. “A billion dollar company like that would settle if they were going to lose. They think they can win. Maybe they will. And then we'll all just be horrible victims of circumstance.”

“That's a dreary way to look at things,” frowned Waylon. “There's too much evidence. They'll go down. Then we can all get on with our lives. What have you been doing all this time anyways?”

It was strange when they were seated on the couch talking. It was almost like they were back in Eddie's tiny apartment above the tailor shop in Mount Massive Shopping Complex. They talked about Eddie's problems with the suddenly closing of his business, and the angry brides he had to endure. Eddie had been more involved with the trial and offered some insight into the prosecution's plan of attack. Waylon spoke about his time at the Branch and his new running habit.

“And the hair?” Eddie asked, his face a neutral mask.

“Oh...” Waylon blushed, pushing his hair behind his ears. “I'm still a little nervous about sharp objects and the sound of the trimmer...well.”

“Also, what on earth is that suit you're wearing?” Eddie asked, a note of disgust entering his tone.

“Huh? Oh uh, yeah, it's the only suit I own,” Waylon said, smiling sheepishly.

“Ah,” Eddie said. “The suit is awful but your hair...I rather like it. You look...” His voice trailed off but the look he gave Waylon was sinful. 

Waylon's cheeks managed to grow even darker. “You look good too.” The silence followed that was made uncomfortable by the almost tangible tension between the two men seated on the couch. 

“Eddie, if we try to pick up where we left off, I might always wonder why you...I hate to bring up sensitive topics but I just don't want to start something if we really do need to stay apart like everyone seems to think...” Waylon said.

“I've had a long time to think about it. I don't remember, but I know what happened. I...” Eddie's blue eyes stared hard at Waylon's chest. as though he could see the jagged scar through Waylon's suit. “Our relationship moved rather quickly and I still had some personal issues to work through. It's difficult to go from thinking the only normal relationship is between a man and a woman, and suddenly being involved with a man. Everything felt so natural, and I just did not question it.”

“You think now that you can be openly...”

“Homosexual. Yes,” Eddie interrupted, nodding solemnly. “Beyond a doubt. It's not just you, I'm attracted to men.” Waylon's eyes immediately narrowed into a glare. “Oh stop darling, being attracted doesn't mean I've been chasing down every man I find attractive. I just want you to know that I'm at a better place with it now. More accepting of myself. You showed me I could have a relationship that was actually fulfilling in all ways. I had given up hope.”

“So there's no part of you that wants to cut my dick off?” Waylon asked, bluntly.

“Darling,” Eddie almost purred. “That's the last thing in the world I want to do to your dick right now.”

It became difficult to swallow for Waylon as his throat went dry. The last thing he should be doing was initiating anything sexual with Eddie, but damn if the man wasn't tempting him. Waylon shifted closer on the couch until his shoulder was pressing against Eddie's. Since they had reunited, Waylon found it difficult not to touch Eddie, as though a year without casual touches had left him starved for human contact—or possibly just contact with Eddie. Proof that he was real.

The tailor was so much bigger than Waylon in both height and bulk. Waylon had forgotten how small it made him feel. When Eddie reached out a hand to gently card through Waylon's longer blond hair, Waylon could not stop the automatic inhale and stiffening. 

Had Eddie noticed? Waylon forced himself to lean in closer and pressed his cheek softly against Eddie's chin—scruffy skin against Eddie's smooth shaven feel. When Eddie turned to face Waylon more on the couch, his hand momentarily rested on Waylon's leg causing the smaller man to tense up and shy away.

“Darling?”

“Sorry I...haven't since...” Waylon shook his head, not wanting to say it. He didn't want to mention the abuse and he definitely was not about to say that asshole's name while sitting here comfortably with Eddie after so many months.

“No need to apologize,” Eddie said softly, allowing some space to form between them on the sofa. “It was the same for me, though it was a lifetime ago. I hated to be touched. I hated to be unclothed and I stopped bathing for a stint. There are still times when I feel helpless or forced and I can't stop the memories. In my case, decades have passed.” 

Waylon listened, unsure what to say. Eddie had never really opened up about his past before. It was a different type of intimacy.

“I am willing to wait for you to be comfortable. I'm willing to...well, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you,” Eddie said, the last part dropping to a whisper.

“Why?” Waylon breathed the question more than said it aloud. 

“Because you would do it for me. You tried to protect me from having those photos released. You fought through fog and cannibals and murderers in an attempt to save me. Everything you did was for me and...well, if I lose you after everything...then Murkoff succeeded at taking everything away. I won't allow that. They can't win, even if they avoid being found guilty.”

Waylon stared at the hotel carpet trying to remember that day. The footage. Eddie had seen the footage. _I love him_. He confessed Miles despite never having said it to Eddie. Waylon's chest felt tight. Eddie knew how he felt, and here he was offering to stay by his side. 

And truly, who could relate to him as well as Eddie at that stage in his life? Surviving that tragedy was only the beginning of their similarities. Eddie could understand and support him through his sexual trauma as someone who had experience with it. They had both come out as gay later in their lives and had to deal with the changes. And then there were their other sexy similarities. 

“I'm sorry I did not protect you, darling,” Eddie said, blue eyes downcast. Waylon reached for his hand and intertwined their fingers.

“Kiss me,” whispered Waylon. Although it came out as a whisper, it stopped Eddie's train of thought as though it had been a shouted command.

Eddie licked his lips, seemingly unconscious of the action as he leaned down, moving a hand to softly caress Waylon's stubbled cheek. The contact was too soft, a teasing ghost of a kiss. Waylon's mouth opened in a soft inhale and Eddie kissed just at his lower lip, feather light, full of indecision.

“I missed you,” Waylon said before pushing his lips flush against Eddie. The tailor hesitated for only a second before returning the kiss. The ease in which the pair could fall into a familiar, deep kiss was unexpected by both parties. 

All Waylon could think about was asking himself why he had not done this the moment he laid eyes on Eddie. Everyone had thought that he would react poorly, and everyone had been wrong because Waylon was alone with Eddie and he was not afraid. 

Waylon's hands gripped Eddie's collar as they kissed on the couch. It was frustrating how Eddie felt pressed against him. Waylon refused to believe that the passion they shared had dimmed in their time apart. Especially considering that it had only intensified for Waylon, as though being denied access to Eddie had caused his feelings to grow hotter and more urgent.

When Waylon finally did break the kiss he launched himself at Eddie's neck, feeling the skin there with his lips, tongue and teeth. Eddie growled and stared up at the ceiling for a moment, still making no moves. Waylon was desperate to break through and make Eddie feel as bothered as he was feeling. He clawed at Eddie's chest as he sucked a dark mark onto his throat. 

When the dam burst, Waylon immediately regretted his actions. Eddie growled as he took Waylon's hand and pushed the smaller man backwards onto the couch. Eddie shifted his weight, almost crawling on top of Waylon and giving his lover's neck the same type of attention he had received. Eddie was so engrossed in the smell and taste of Waylon that he did not register the distress for several long moments.

“Eddie,” Waylon breathed, causing his lover to moan against his neck, oblivious to he panicked edge creeping into his tone. “Eddie,” he squeaked again, slightly louder and attempting to squirm out from under the restrictive weight holding him in place while Eddie bit down hard on his ear lobe. Images flashed through his brain like some kind of warning system alerting him to the impending danger. Waylon truly believed there was no danger, but the response was reflexive and powerful. 

“Please,” Waylon whimpered, pushing against Eddie pointlessly. “PLEASE.”

The weight was immediately lifted as Eddie pushed himself up on his arms and stared down at Waylon with wide blue eyes. “Darling? Are you okay? Did I,” he had to pause when his voice broke slightly, “...did I hurt you?”

“No,” Waylon said, feeling foolish and hating himself even as his heart threatened to fly out of his chest. “No, It's my fault, I just, I...”

“I knew better,” Eddie scolded himself, sitting upright on the couch and fighting to put his hair back into place.

“I'm sorry,” Waylon said, feeling more pathetic than usual. “Please,” Waylon said reaching out and taking one of Eddie's hands and pulling it toward him until he finally got Eddie to meet his eyes. “I want to work through this. I want you. Please, don't give up on me?”

Eddie shook his head and exhaled. “Never.”

Waylon was smiling and holding Eddie's hand, completely happy in that moment, and oblivious to the vibration coming from his pants pocket. 

“Darling, you're vibrating,” Eddie said.

“It does feel that way a little,” Waylon said, giving a sheepish smile.

“No, your phone. You're getting a call,” Eddie explained, an amused look on his handsome face.

“Oh. Oh. Right,” Waylon fumbled for his phone, blushing with embarrassment. It was only a text from Lisa. “They're done for the day. Lisa wants to meet for dinner. Come on,” Waylon said, standing up and retrieving his jacket. 

“Are you sure she would want me there?” Eddie asked.

“I don't care. I want you there,” Waylon said, smiling so broadly he thought his face would split in two. It was a relief to know that he could be hopeful again. The outcome of the trial did not matter as long as he got to work through things with the man he loved. Lisa and Miles had to accept that. 

The great Miles Upshur actually graced the group with his presence turning their casual dinner into a kind of weird double date. Miles did not look excited to see Eddie, but he at least was not outright hostile. Lisa ordered an appetizer of nachos for the table and proceeded to eat them all by herself.

“Are you guys nervous?” she asked, chewing loudly with a strand of cheese hanging off her chin. Waylon tried to hold in his laughter but he couldn't.

“You have cheese just, all over,” Waylon said, fighting to keep his voice from breaking into more giggles. 

Lisa wiped her hand across her face in search of the cheese, but only succeeded in wiping sour cream on the bridge of her nose. “Did I get it?” Waylon rolled his eyes.

“Waylon has no reason to be nervous,” Eddie said, drinking his water per usual while the others drank cheap Mexican beer. “The defense does not have any ammunition against him. The files were verified by the expert witnesses. The fact that Blaire blackmailed him is backed up by video. They are only interested in proof that Murkoff broke the laws. They won't be asking him to retell the day of the disaster.”

“Do you have reason to be nervous then?” Lisa asked, wiping greasy hands on her napkin and looking at Eddie.

“Probably. They will ask me about my past. Probably try to discredit my testimony against Murkoff by bringing up my record. Making me seem unstable. Untrustworthy. It won't really be hard considering all their evidence.”

“Let's just get through tomorrow. Then we can blow off the rest of the trial. There's nothing we can do about the outcome anyways. We're not lawyers. Even Miles can't do anything about the outcome, no matter how important he feels.”

“I'm worried that the defense is going to get away with it. They're pinning everything on Jeremy fucking Blaire. And it's probably going to work. That man was a disgusting human being.”

“Even dead he's ruining my life,” Waylon grumbled. “Like some kinda asshole ghost.”

“Ghost-hole,” Lisa said, nodding, as though it were a word. 

“Even if Murkoff Corp gets cleared of the criminal characters for creating the weaponized chemical, they won't get out of a civil suit. We'll still get paid reparations and we can move on with our lives,” Waylon said.

“Yeah, because that's what will fix all of this,” Miles said, gesturing with his altered hands. “I'm not going to stop fighting. I don't doubt in my mind that the evidence exists linking all of those Murkoff executives directly to what was going on. I just have no idea what it could be. Their lawyers are good, really good, if it the evidence was there they would find it. But I haven't heard the team talking about anything.”

“Would they talk to you about it? I mean, really? You're on air every night. You're not exactly my first choice to tell if I want something to be a surprise,” Waylon said.

“There's no such things are surprise witnesses and evidence Park, that's dumb shit they do in the movies,” Miles sneered over his beer.

It was decided as a group that they should turn in early to be fresh for their big day in the morning. Eddie was staying in a different hotel and Waylon kissed him goodbye as they dropped him off.

“So after all that, you guys are just going to be a couple again?” Miles asked from the driver's seat. 

“No relationship is perfect,” Lisa said, leaning over to grin obnoxiously at her boyfriend. “I mean, except ours.”

“I hope you're not being sarcastic,” Miles said, fighting a smile, but in the end he couldn't hold it back. “I really thought you'd want to stay away from someone who tried to kill you.”

“Yeah, well, you don't know me as well as you think you do,” Waylon answered from the backseat. “I know it wont' be easy. We both have significant issues. I'm not under some illusion that everything will just be easy without any setbacks. But I'm willing to work for it, and so is Eddie. Relationships are work.”

“Tell me about it,” Miles joked to Lisa as they pulled up to the hotel. 

“You love it,” Lisa said, fluttering her lashes so obviously it was like a bug had just flown into her eye. “And it's not like they're getting married. So they're going to date again. Just, take it slow. One day at a time.”

But first, they had to get through one particularly big day.

Waylon paced in the waiting area of the courthouse. Second. He was going to be called second, right after Miles. He'd gone over the questions with his lawyers several times, and they had prepared him for what to expect from the defense attorneys on cross-examination. Waylon felt impossibly nervous and sweaty.

“Are you going to be alright, darling?” Eddie asked, his brow furrowed as he watched Waylon cross back and forth in front of where he was sitting on one of the provided tables. 

“Fine,” Waylon snapped, wringing his hands together. “Not fine.”

“Come here,” Eddie said gently as he stood up and picked up the wearable microphone provided. “Let's get you ready and then you should really sit down and relax.”

A quick glance at the monitor showed Miles being sworn in and taking his seat at the podium. “Oh God...” Waylon groaned. 

“There there,” chided Eddie, a patient grin on his handsome face. “This is why we're here. You're going to be perfect.” He carefully clipped the mouthpiece at the top of Waylon's suit jacket collar, then he held the battery pack in his hands and frowned. “Where do you want this part?”

“What? Wherever,” Waylon said, distracted by Miles on the monitor. 

“I don't believe you even have a pocket inside of your jacket. Do you want me to see if you can carry it in your pants pocket?” An unintelligible grumble was Waylon's answer. Eddie huffed indignantly and started to drop the battery pack into Waylon's pants pocket. 

“Get a room,” squawked Lisa from the door to the room, holding up her hands in a fake attempt to shield her eyes. 

Waylon's attention snapped to Eddie's hand at the lip of his pants pocket. “It's not what it looks like,” he promised Lisa, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“Sure it's not,” she said, laughing as the boys separated with chagrined expressions on their faces. “Do you mind if I watch in here with you guys? I'm nervous.”

The trio ended up on the couch with Waylon sandwiched in the middle between the two people he cared for most in the world. It actually did help to calm his nerves slightly. At least it did until Miles was questioned by the defense attorneys. 

Miles Upshur, the unflappable face of the Murkoff trial, finally seemed to reach his limit. Everyone watched as the reporter seemed to unravel in front of the court room. His answers to the questioning defense attorney were curt, insulting, and at times downright aggressive. At one point the gavel rang through the courtroom and Miles was threatened of being found in contempt. “What the hell does he think he's doing?” Lisa squeaked as they watched over the closed circuit television. 

“Hopefully not blowing this case, damn,” mumbled Waylon. All the stress must have finally broken the man because he was abusive to the defense attorney when they began to bring up the restraining order and other factors affecting Miles' ability to speak impartially about the Murkoff Corporation. So much for having the case locked down. Waylon was wondering if Eddie's prediction about the company getting out of criminal charges coming true. 

In contrast to Miles, Waylon's time on the stand went much smoother. The lawyers were most interested in his dealings with Murkoff. The actual process was nothing like Waylon had been anticipating. It was professional and his nerves soon vanished as he answered questions he had prepared for. When the defense took their turn, even their questions were expected and easily answered. Overall, Waylon felt satisfied that he had done his part against the monster company.

Then there was Eddie's turn on the stand. He had answered his questions and submitted to scrutiny where his predictions came true. They went through every skeleton in his closet, claiming the reviewed background check had been a smart move and not some manipulation by Murkoff. That Eddie's testimony was worthless against Murkoff because he was under the influence of the gas. Waylon was thankful no one but him knew that Miles may have been also. 

“Finally, Mr. Gluskin, do you believe it is it possible that any of your documented behavior that day was influenced by your history and not because of the incident?” asked the defense.

“No,” Eddie said softly into his wearable mark at his lapel. “When Murkoff released that chemical, it caused me harm the one person who has ever really selflessly loved me in this world without expecting anything in return. I could never hurt Waylon when in my right mind. I love him far too much and Murkoff almost caused me to lose him forever when they decided to experiment on me against my will.”

Waylon was not listening anymore. He barely heard Lisa call after him as he walked toward the door that would lead Eddie away from the witness stand. There was a throng of reporters all standing with their booms, cameras and microphones. Waylon ignored them, even when they caught sight of him and started to scream his name like an incessant swarm of gulls at the beach. The door opened and a few attendants exited right in front of...

“Eddie,” Waylon called, standing on his toes and waving. The people were losing in and he started to worry that Eddie would never see him or hear him until he felt strong arms pulling him forward. Waylon felt bodies pushed out of the way until he met with a hard immovable surface. “Eddie,” Waylon repeated, smiling up at the man he loved who loved him too. It was on the record.

“Mr. Park! Mr. Gluskin! Mr. Park! How do you feel about the questioning today? Was Jeremy Blaire the only one you had contact with at Murkoff? Mr. Park...” 

It all faded into buzzing background noise as Waylon threw his arms around Eddie's neck and kissed him, insistent lips and seeking tongue. The larger man had to bend down to continue the embrace, and the sound of a dozen cameras flashing filled the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final Chapter and Epilogue forthcoming. Sorry for delay. They're almost done, I promise


	23. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, everyone discusses their feelings and visions for the future like adults and...ahahahaha just kidding. Smut warning.

After their testimonies were complete, Waylon and Eddie ditched court for the rest of the day. They lost the reporters that hounded them on the courtyard steps and escaped into the large park across the street It was a clear day with a cold wind blowing. Waylon huddled next to Eddie for warmth as they wandered through the well kept pathways of the city park. 

“What will you do now?” Eddie asked as a couple of joggers passed them on the path.

“You mean like, this second?” Waylon asked.

“No. I'm inquiring about your plans. Will you try to open another shop?” Eddie clarified.

“No,” Waylon laughed. “I cringe to think about trying to start another business. I may never visit a shopping complex again without worrying what might be hiding underneath.” Waylon stopped to sit at one of the wooden park benches. It was cold and damp and he immediately regretted his decision, but he could think clearer when he was not dodging people. “What about you? People were really impressed with that dress you know. You're probably in high demand,” Waylon teased.

“You're joking, but you actually aren't wrong,” Eddie said, frowning as he joined Waylon on the bench. He removed his hands from his coat pockets to slide one arm around Waylon's shoulders and pull him close. “I've already received many requests, but I was not sure it was wise to be around so many sl...customers when I'm still nervous about...well, what I could be capable of, if...”

“It would be a damn shame if you gave up on sewing. You're amazingly talented and you love it so much,” Waylon said.

“Mmm,” Eddie hummed in response. “I doubt I will ever stop sewing. It's what keeps me sane.”

Waylon nudged his shoulder into Eddie. “Don't say that. We're both sane. We're okay. Even if you don't go back into business you'll be okay.”

“Of course, darling,” Eddie said, a shy smile creeping onto his countenance. “Even though I have refused all requests, I have not been idle. It's rather embarrassing really...”

“What is?” Waylon pushed, turning to look at Eddie's face. His cheeks were pink, though it was unclear if it was from the freezing wind or...was Eddie blushing?

“I was filled with thoughts of missing you and, well, there is a wardrobe waiting for you that any starlet would envy,” Eddie said. “Though I had not counted on your new jogging hobby. Some may need adjustments...”

Waylon laughed so loud he startled a small dog walking by on a leash that proceeded to yip loudly at the pair on the bench. Waylon buried his head on Eddie's shoulder to stifle his laughter. He could hear Eddie's chuckle in response vibrating in his chest. “That's...actually the best thing I've heard in months. I'll probably need to shave my legs again. I kind of let myself go in that department...”

Eddie lowered his own head to whisper into Waylon's ear. “I would not mind helping you with that.” Waylon's responding moan was much too promiscuous for a park at midday. 

“You're going to get us thrown out of this park,” muttered Waylon. “Where do you plan on staying after the trial? I need a place to stay and you're the only person I would consider as a roommate. Think we could still live together?”

Eddie tensed at the question. “Are you sure? We still don't know that I am completely safe. I could never forgive myself if I hurt you again. You'll be giving up a chance to make a clean start. Find someone that can make you happy and help you forget...”

“I'll never forget,” Waylon said, his tone sorrow and bitterness. “And no one will ever understand the way you do. We don't have to make it permanent. Maybe just try it out on a temporary basis.”

“I was not trying to reject you,” Eddie said solemnly. He reached down to take Waylon's hand. “I want nothing more than to wake up to your strange sleeping noises.”

“Shut up,” grumbled Waylon, though he was smiling. “I'm just tired of distance and people keeping us apart.” Waylon paused for a few moments, content to lean against Eddie and watch small wispy clouds in the upper stratosphere. Worries never strayed far from Waylon's mind. “Are you nervous? About the trial I mean?”

“Of course,” Eddie said.

“Me too,” Waylon whispered, squeezing Eddie's hand. “It's cold. Let's go back to my room and order some room service.”

When the pair arrived at the hotel room, Waylon had lost his appetite, at least for food. He took off his coat and hat and helped Eddie remove his own overcoat. But Waylon did not stop there. Eddie's eyes widened as Waylon casually began to undo the buttons on Eddie's vest, then slid it gently over his shoulders and put it aside with the coat. Next were the shirt buttons...

“Darling,” Eddie breathed, his voice dropping a register. “I thought you wanted...”

“This,” Waylon said, turning his gaze up to meet Eddie's. “I want this.” His fingers never paused in their movements and Eddie made no move to hinder his progress. Waylon opened the shirt once all the buttons were undone and paused for a moment when he spotted Eddie's scar.

It was larger than he had anticipated. Even fully healed, the mark looked angry and raised. Waylon touched it gingerly and Eddie released a stuttering sigh. “Sorry,” Waylon said quickly looking up at Eddie.

“It's fine,” Eddie said softly. “It doesn't hurt. It's just...not pleasant, I know...”

“Stop,” Waylon said, running a hand down Eddie's toned chest and stomach. He obviously had not spent all of his time sewing because at least some of it was spent at the gym. Waylon leaned in and pressed his lips to the scar, kissing Eddie as his hands mapped out his chest and stomach. He wanted to re-learn everything he had missed for so long. He slid the shirt off easily and kissed a slow trail up his lover's neck. 

The hotel room was warm and getting hotter due to his proximity to Eddie. Waylon paused to undo his own shirt, wanting nothing more in that moment than to feel Eddie's skin against his. Now it was Eddie's turn to pause as he ran his fingers over the puckered half moon that outlined the bottom of Waylon's left pectoral muscle on his chest. Truthfully, the knife scar was no where near as ugly as the uneven chunk of missing flesh from the cannibal's bite that had healed into a mass of puffy red and pink scar tissue near his collar. The hideous bite scar seemed invisible as Eddie frowned and traced the scar his own hand had created. 

“Does it...” Eddie started to ask without looking away from the silvery mark. 

“Of course not,” Waylon said softly, exhaling a soft laugh. There had been some stiffness and his muscle seemed slightly less in that side of his chest, but overall it was a small price to pay to be alive, healthy, and back with Eddie.

Eddie almost bent in half to make it possible for his lips to brush across the healed skin. Waylon wrapped his arms around Eddie's neck and held his head close to his chest. When those lips moved to tease a nipple, Waylon jumped and gasped slightly. The response only seemed to urge Eddie on as he continued sucking on Waylon's chest and bringing his nipple into a wet, tan peak. 

It was a relief. There was no sensation loss at all despite the damage to his chest and Eddie easily started to press all the right buttons. Eddie remembered the way Waylon liked to be touched. Waylon reached a hand up to roughly grab Eddie's hair while he was still hunched. When Eddie broke away to look up at Waylon, he wasted no time pushing his hands against Eddie's chest. There's no way he could overpower the larger man, but Eddie got the hint and allowed himself to be backed up onto the bed where he sat down and Waylon straddled his lap. 

The heat of Eddie's skin against his bare chest and the feel of his lips as they settled into a slow, deep kiss was too much. Warning lights were going off somewhere in Waylon's mind, but he was too engrossed in the moment to care. Instead he reached down and stroked Eddie's growing bulge through his pants.

“Darling,” Eddie practically moaned against Waylon's mouth. “Yesterday you said...”

“Want you,” was all Waylon managed to get out before Eddie resumed kissing his lips with an almost bruising force. Waylon continued to grope his boyfriend, even using two hands to undo his belt and pants to allow better access. Eddie growled in frustration. 

“You don't have to push yourself,” Eddie panted during small breaks for breath. Now it was Waylon's turn to grunt in frustration, grinding his hips on Eddie's laps to silence any more complaints. He could tell that Eddie was holding back. He kept his hands above the waist and his kisses, while passionate, were not the tongue swallowing, saliva suffocating assaults Waylon remembered from their most desperate moments together. A memory surfaced and a wicked grin spread on Waylon's face.

“I'm not doing anything I don't want to do,” Waylon assured Eddie as he paused to undo his own pants, allowing them to slide down enough until the tops of his underwear were showing. His silky black underwear with their delicate black lace border. Eddie's gaze was almost tangible, making Waylon's cock twitch in its silken coverings. 

“For...for me,” Eddie stuttered, staring in awe at the delicate panties his lover had been wearing under such a drab suit. When he looked up for Waylon's answer his blue eyes were bloomed with lust. 

“For me, actually,” Waylon said, grinning as he felt himself blushing. “You showed me but, I already wanted to wear this type of thing. I like it. I do it for me. But if you like it then, all the better.”

“Good to see you're still a dirty little minx,” Eddie teased with a smirk.

“I feel like I've been waiting for years. I don't want to wait anymore,” Waylon said, his grin widening. Eddie only groaned and pushed his hips upward off the bed to grind against Waylon astride his lap. “I don't suppose you brought anything to make sex comfortable?”

Eddie snorted. “How could I have guessed that I might get pulled out of court and seduced by a naughty slut like you.” Chills ran down Waylon's spine. The best kind of chills. Oh yes. He had missed the way Eddie talked to him.

“Oh well, we can make this work,” muttered Waylon, rolling quickly off of Eddie and rushing to undo his pants. Eddie saw what was happening and followed suit. Both men shimmied out of their slacks and Waylon started to pull down his satin panties before Eddie stopped him with a firm hand on his wrist. The restrained feeling set his heart racing, and he froze. 

“Sorry,” breathed Eddie, immediately releasing his grip. “I want...I missed you so much. Can you...can you leave them on a while longer?”

“Okay,” Waylon agreed, leaving the black satin panties in place and sliding next to Eddie on the bed, only satin panties and thin boxers separating them from both being completely bare.

Waylon's body burned the scrutiny of that azure gaze. Eddie ran his hand down Waylon's bare chest and palmed his growing erection through his satin panties. The head of Waylon's cock had already breached the waistband, peeking out ruddy and moist. Eddie's hand stroking his erection through the material had Waylon moaning quickly. Too long without a partner had left Waylon overly sensitized.

“That's right,” breathed Eddie, watching Waylon's every move as he continues to stroke the front of his panties, “we can do whatever you want. I want to make you feel good.”

Waylon writhed at the touch, gasping and moaning at Eddie's persistent touch. It was impossible to think straight. Waylon pushed himself up on his elbows to stare intently at Eddie. “I want you inside of me. Let me get you ready.”

Eddie released Waylon's shaft with a wry smile. “I had almost forgotten what a shameless whore you could become.”

“Only for you Eddie,” Waylon muttered, pulling Eddie's boxers down enough to allow his hard cock to spring free. After months of fantasizing, Waylon had begun to believe he had exaggerated his lover's size in his memories. If anything, he had underestimated and that knowledge left him feeling slightly uneasy about what lay ahead. 

Waylon shifted on the bed to bend down and tease his tongue along the slit, licking away the bead of moisture glistening there. It was satisfying when he felt the member throb from the contact. The taste of Eddie. Waylon would recognize it anywhere, even after so many months. He moaned as he laved his tongue over every inch of Eddie, tasting; remembering. 

Waylon had to remind himself that this wasn't all for Eddie's pleasure. He needed to get everything soaking wet if he wanted any sort of penetration. Waylon started to work his mouth down further on Eddie's length, letting his own saliva coat the throbbing shaft. Soon Waylon was bobbing easily, drool spilling down his chin and wetting Eddie's balls. The slurping, wet sounds coming from Waylon's work had Eddie groaning and fighting the urge to thrust upwards and gag his lover. 

“Darling,” Eddie panted, enjoying the sight of Waylon's cheeks hollowed around his erection too much. “Let me help.”

Waylon released the wet shaft with an obscene sucking noise and stared at Eddie with a confused look on his face, and drool running down his chin. “Help?” 

Eddie grunted, pulling Waylon's body around until he's on all fours over Eddie with his ass in Eddie's direct line of sight. Waylon wasn't sure what to expect as Eddie hooked a finger on his satin panties and pulled them aside. Eddie had to crane his neck but he managed to flatten his tongue against Waylon's perineum and dragged it up across his sensitive entrance.

Waylon gasped, jumping slightly forward. Eddie's hands gripped his thighs and held him in place. His tongue came back, lapping with teasing, wet strokes across his puckered opening. Waylon pushed his mouth down on Eddie as he moaned. The vibrations from the moan had Eddie gasping and writhing his tongue in tight circles around Waylon's entrance. 

“Fuu...” Waylon groaned, pushing his ass backwards onto Eddie's tongue, encouraging him to press the slippery appendage past his tight ring. His original purpose was forgotten for the moment as he focused on the new sensation. He'd never felt anything like it and his overly sensitized body was thrumming. Eddie's threatening length bobbing in his sight reminded him of his original purpose and Waylon had to focus on swallowing around Eddie while having himself opened up and licked. Waylon felt entirely unprepared, but he needed it. And nothing would stop him now. Not with Eddie's tongue prying open his hole and his mouth encircling Eddie's shaft. 

“Now, oh please...” Waylon knew he sounded pathetic, but he could not help himself. How long had he dreamed of having Eddie naked and within grasp once again? Eddie started to sit up at the plea, but Waylon quickly stopped him with a frightened look. 

“Wait, stop,” Waylon commanded. Eddie's face wrinkled as he frowned and for a moment Waylon thought he would surely refuse, or at least react poorly to being ordered around. Neither came, and Waylon was able to position himself to straddle Eddie's bare lap. 

Being held down by Eddie the previous day had caused an adverse reaction in Waylon's mind, but he thought he had found a loophole. He was nervous having never tried being on top before, but luckily Eddie helped him into position until Waylon felt the thick shaft slipping between his cheeks. He grabbed Eddie's length in one hand and supported himself with the other. Once everything was lined up, Waylon inhaled as he began to lower himself onto Eddie. 

A sharp cry broke the relative quiet of the hotel room as soon as the tip breached Waylon's tight ring. “Dammit,” hissed Waylon, holding himself still and feeling his body stiffen in protest. 

“Shh,” Eddie soothed, though his voice was low and thick when he spoke. “Take your time. We can stop if you...”

Waylon bit his lip and allowed gravity to assist him with sliding further down on Eddie's lap. His hands on Eddie's shoulders gripped so tightly his nails left small red gashes. He was panting and whimpering but the underlying feeling of being entered and stretched by Eddie again was too satisfying. 

“Were you always this tight,” Eddie grunted as Waylon slowly engulfed him inch by inch.

“Were you always this big” whined Waylon, nails digging into the skin on Eddie's shoulders as he fought to keep himself from taking too much too fast. Eddie sat up until he could wrap his strong arms around Waylon and assist with the slow descent. Waylon's hands slid easily around his shoulders and he dropped his chin to his chest as he squeezed his eyes shut and focused on feeling past the pain.

“Darling, relax,” Eddie said softly, kissing at Waylon's hair while holding him. He groaned loudly when Waylon attempted an experimental roll of his hips that left the smaller man crying out. “Waylon,” he whispered, tilting Waylon's chin up and seeing his brown eyes leaking fresh tears. He brought their lips together in a gentle kiss. 

Waylon focused on Eddie's mouth and his hands on his back and the delicious sensation of being full of his lover. The pain was temporary. He cursed himself for not planning ahead or at least searching the room. Miles and Lisa probably had something right? At least some condoms? Or maybe not. A rough hand around his cock yanked Waylon from his own thoughts. 

Waylon's limbs wrapped around Eddie as the larger man took control. Waylon had not even noticed that his own erection had softened while he focused on taking all of Eddie. Now he finally had everything he wanted within his grasp. Eddie's hand brought him back to full attention until evidence of his desire dripped freely, coating Eddie's hand. When Eddie grabbed his thighs and began pushing Waylon up and down everything began to fall into place. The two men melded into a satisfying rhythm. 

“Fuck,” moaned Waylon, his head lolling back as Eddie thrust upwards while moving him up and down in his lap. With each movement, Waylon could feel Eddie reaching new depths. The pain became a dull ache and the pleasure of Eddie against his insides began to override the earlier discomfort. Waylon was rolling his own hips now, holding onto Eddie's neck and moaning loudly.

“That's it darling,” Eddie grunted through his heavy breathing, sweat appearing across his brow. “You're pulling me in. I can tell you want me to fill you.”

“Yes, please,” Waylon moaned, begging piteously. “I need you. Fill me to overflowing.” Even with Waylon's needy grinding, Eddie managed to keep a steady rhythm and increase the pace of their movements. 

“Still the same demanding slut,” Eddie grunted, his breathing uneven and movements turning more jarring. Waylon locked eyes with Eddie, sweaty hands still grasping behind his neck. 

“I want to have your babies,” Waylon whispered. The response was immediate as Eddie growled and leaned forward to bite down on Waylon's neck, only inches away from his actual bite scar. Waylon moaned, holding Eddie as he felt his insides coated. Waylon continued to roll his hips, loving the way his lover's seed allowed for a much more comfortable movement. 

Eddie's forehead was on his shoulder as he struggled to regain his breath, holding Waylon. The smaller man did not hold back from stroking himself while atop Eddie's lap. He panted and moaned shamelessly against Eddie's shoulder until he was spilling himself, tightening around Eddie as he dirtied his hand and his lover's stomach. Good thing he didn't mind getting the hotel sheets dirty. 

Only as the haze of arousal began to lift did Waylon smile and tighten his arms around his lover. “Eddie,” he whispered, the grin evident in his tone.

“Darling,” Eddie said, lifting his head up to give a tired smile to his blushing lover. “I love you, Waylon. I loved you and I should have told you the moment I knew it. I should have...”

“It doesn't matter now. We're together. I'm not letting you go,” Waylon said, kissing Eddie's cheek, paying special attention to the scarred portions on the right side of his face, especially near the eye and mouth. “I don't ever want to be away from you again. I love you, Eddie.”

The hotel room was filled with afternoon sunlight and the sounds of recovery as the two men held one another in silence. Waylon finally felt like the future could be alright. He knew it would not be perfect considering everything they had been through, but they would definitely be together. 

The peace and relaxation that followed their union was too sacred to break. Waylon had a feeling like he had been immersed in Eddie and emerged finally able to live the way he wanted. In that moment, everything was perfect. And then there was a sound at the door. Like a hotel key being slid into the door and the lock opening. 

“Way? You in here?” came Lisa's voice.

“Shit,” squeaked Waylon, quickly jumping off of Eddie's lap and pulling desperately at the scratchy hotel comforter beneath them. The two men barely managed to scramble under the covering before Lisa and Miles appeared in the main area of the hotel room. Lisa's ridiculous grin contrasted with the deep scowl on Miles' face. 

“Jesus Park, couldn't you fuck on your own bed? That one is yours now. For fuck's sake...,” grumbled Miles, turning his back on the couple to storm deeper into the room toward the television area. 

“Are you guys naked?” Lisa whisper screamed still grinning and holding up her hands which were balled into fists of excitement near her face.

“God, you guys, please, give us a goddamn minute or something,” Waylon complained loudly. He could feel his face burning up from embarrassment. He dared a glance at Eddie and saw the tailor leveling a cool blue eyed stare at Waylon. “Sorry...”

“You failed to mention when we've come here that you were sharing a room, darling,” said Eddie.

“Yeah, about that,” Waylon said, nervous laughter not really helping the situation.

“So have you two horny idiots forgotten why we're here? You're missing everything,” chided Miles, his eyes on the television as it blinked on and the courtroom came into view. 

“Wait, that's...”

“Mr. Hope, can you please describe your relationship with Mr. Wernicke?” asked Sean Taylor, the handsome lawyer for the prosecution.

“Mr. Wernicke was like a father to me,” said the boy on the stand. His hair had grown out some in over a year and his face was scarred even worse than Eddie's, but Waylon recognized the boy—well, man. Billy Hope. Miles' inside source from the very beginning. The boy that warned Waylon against Murkoff and untied him and saved his life the day of the disaster. 

“I thought Billy was dead,” Waylon asked, his own embarrassing nudity forgotten as he stared slack-jawed at the screen.

“Everyone from the chemical factory that day was missing and presumed dead. No one told me a goddamn thing about it,” groused Miles. “Apparently some kind of witness protection situation was necessary. Those idiots destroyed all the evidence, but they did not count on Billy actually speaking against them this way. He has photographs and personal correspondences with just about every member of the board. Wernicke took a special interest in his mom and him. It's pretty impossible for Murkoff to claim they all knew nothing about what was going on, if they were personal friends with Billy and his mom.”

“Holy shit,” said Waylon, grinning at Eddie and reaching for his boyfriend's hand. “Still think they're going to win?”

“Time will tell,” Eddie said, though his reluctant shrug and small smile seemed to suggest that he might be having a change of heart. 

“Well, no matter the outcome, I already feel like I won,” said Waylon, shifting to lean against Eddie, resting his had on his shoulder.

“Awwww,” squealed Lisa causing Miles to look over curiously and immediately turn his had away.

“Look, get dressed you perverts. Let's go talk to Billy. Show some witness solidarity. We should start a club or something. What you do after that is your own business but do it in your own goddamn hotel room, dammit Park,” said Miles, practically dragging Lisa out of the room as she continued to grin and stare at the two men.

“Back to the courthouse. Will this ordeal ever end?” Eddie grumbled, sliding an arm around Waylon where they sat in the bed.

“At least it's all almost over. I can't wait to put all of this behind us and really start our new life—together,” Waylon said, squeezing Eddie's hand. 

“Darling,” smiled Eddie. “We're going to be beautiful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys I...I have no excuse okay. I changed that smut like 100 times before I was like, look, they do it, everyone gets it...I couldn't decide between a completely fantastical "OMG they DO IT" and a more realistic uhhh this is what happens when you don't have lube". But in the end, I did a kinda hybrid. Arrrgh. I'm sorry, if you hated this chapter look, the next one is coming up and it's ALREADY DONE. I am ONLY WAITING for you guys to write me anything that hasn't been wrapped up. If you still have questions I want to answer them in my epilogue so please, if you have like questions about stuff I wrote and then did not properly close up, leave a comment. (Please note: What happened at the trial, and with Way/Ed is covered) Otherwise, the end is near. Very. Near. (As in, it's done, and it's SUPER LONG guys, like two chapters long)


	24. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This epilogue takes place a year or so after the last chapter, in case that's confusing. Sorry that it's really long and I left in superfluous stuff I would usually cut because I just wanted to include everything I could and some was written in July with the original text and some written more recently because I'm a pervert and it all doesn't really flow together but it's just time to finish this thing...anyways. ENJOY! Thanks for reading my ridiculous story :)

The small room was filled with folded chairs, fake plants, discarded plaster pillars and other miscellaneous clutter. It was probably storage for the small church. A red exit sign was the only light, casting a sinister red glow about the location, but it was just enough light for Waylon to see clearly. Soft panting and wet noises filled the area.

“Eddie,” breathed Waylon, trying to keep his voice down. He leaned back against a flimsy portable table, hands gripping the edges until his knuckles were white. “Are you even supposed to be seeing me right now?” Waylon barely managed the sentence between soft, breathy gasps and moans. 

“Mmm,” was the only response from Eddie, and the vibration from the noise had Waylon moaning uncontrollably and letting his head fall backwards. He felt trapped by the pleasure he was receiving. Waylon tried to cling to the thoughts of the responsibilities of the day and what he should be doing rather than getting blown in the storage closet. It was impossible to concentrate.

“We should stop or you're going to ruin my tux,” whined Waylon and to his surprise Eddie actually released him from his mouth with a lewd slurping sound. 

“I'm sorry darling, but I don't see how you can except me to contain myself when you're dressed up so pretty,” Eddie crooned from his kneeling position in front of Waylon. He glanced down just in time to watch his lover tongue all over his wet length, gleaming red in the strange exit sign lighting.

“You designed it and made it so I don't know how you can still find it surprising,” Waylon complained, though the heavy breathing and barely contained longing in his voice made it seem less like a genuine grievance. Eddie chuckled as he tongued at Waylon's slit, dragging his large hands up and down Waylon's thighs from the tops of his black thigh high stockings to the elastic straps of his matching garter belt. 

“Designing it is one thing. Seeing you wearing such a naughty garment under your tuxedo is just...,” Eddie's voice turned husky before his mouth engulfed Waylon once again. 

Waylon groaned and gripped the table. He stared at the exit light. He tried hard not to make a mess. “Eddie you are driving me crazy,” whimpered Waylon. Over their year together, Eddie had learned exactly how to please him. Through plenty of practice, Eddie perfected his technique until he could get Waylon dribbling and begging in a matter of minutes. Not that either of them liked to rush. “Please, I can't...” But an insistent, hot throat swallowing around him said that he could. Waylon's hands flew to Eddie's head, gripping tightly and feeling the short shaved hair and silky slicked back strands. A devastated groan left his lips as he abandoned any attempts to stay quiet. His body shook with his violent release. 

Eddie was thorough. He did not even pause for breath until Waylon was sucked dry and carefully tucked back into his panties with his tuxedo properly adjusted. By the time Eddie stood up and smirked at his boyfriend, Waylon looked ready for the ceremony—if you didn't count the slightly dazed look on his face and the light sheen of sweat on his brow.

“You should probably hurry along, darling. We can't have everyone waiting on you,” Eddie said before kissing Waylon. The smaller man returned the kiss, tasting himself and feeling a warm possessive feeling read up inside. Some feral part of him loved when any trace of himself was left on his boyfriend. 

“See you in the chapel,” Waylon whispered after the kiss broke. The two men were still pressed together when the door to the room opened suddenly. 

“Did you look in here? There's always extra serving platters in here somewhere!” came a voice from the door.

“No, he specifically said it was in the kitchen storage, not the special events storage, those are different things. You should know that by now idiot...” The door closed and both men let out a breath they had not realized they were holding. Waylon chuckled and nuzzled against Eddie's shoulder. Eddie kissed his hair affectionately. Waylon's hair normally fell past his chin, but his long blond tresses were half pulled back into a half ponytail for the event. After a few moments passed, the men decided it was probably safe to depart from the room.

“Okay I'm going first, wait a few seconds. So it's not too obvious in case someone sees,” said Waylon.

“Yes yes, darling, whatever you say,” said Eddie though even in in the dim light Waylon knew he was grinning. “See you very soon.”

Waylon pushed the door open and quickly jumped into the hallway, looking up and down for any sign of life with an extremely guilty expression on his face. He gave a sigh of relief and began to walk in the direction of the chapel when he heard a familiar voice.

“Mr. Park! Mr. Park, we're almost ready to start. I was looking for you everywhere,” said the attendant whose name Waylon could never remember. Waylon knew the attendant worked with the company that had worked to plan the wedding. He allowed himself to be escorted to a small waiting room where he met with a storm of tulle and roses. 

Waylon adjusted his tuxedo for the umpteenth time. He had hoped for a more casual wedding, but his request hadn't meant much. A tray of glasses filled with champagne flutes caught his eye. Waylon took one and drank it down quickly. 

He ventured further back into the small holding room and finally noticed Lisa smiling at him. She walked over and slid her arm through his. “You look so tense and nervous. Just relax, Waylon. Everything's going to be fine,” she said, giving him a tight hug. “Oh my god, you smell like sex. Waaaaaaay...”

“What?! How can you...” Waylon started.

“Hah. I knew it. You don't really smell, I just know with you two it's a big possibility. You guys are worse than horny teenagers...” said Lisa, smirking.

“Sorry. I just,” Waylon sighed, shifting nervously in his dress shoes. “You know I suck at big events like this. I especially dislike being in front of people. I mean, how many people were invited again?” Waylon tried to loosen his collar. He felt entirely too hot in his finery. He was almost regretting his choice of undergarments as well since he knew they must be getting ruined with sweat. 

He was still feeling nervous and sweaty when he heard it. The Wedding March. That was his cue. He turned to Lisa. “How do I look?”

“Fucking sweaty. Dammit Waylon, don't ruin this for me,” hissed Lisa. Waylon hurried to adjust the long, flowing train of Lisa's wedding dress one final time. The back was the most breathtaking part of the entire gown. He straightened her veil, ensuring the sheer material draped without blocking her face. 

“You know if anything's not perfect Eddie will flip about you mistreating his creation. He's really proud of this dress,” said Waylon.

“I'll say. It's like a dream come true. I always wanted to get married and just...I feel like I am living a dream right now,” said Lisa, smiling broadly. “Thank you, Waylon. For everything.”

“I knew from the moment I met you, Lisa James, that we would be walking down the aisle together,” grinned Waylon. Lisa slapped his chest gently with her bouquet of crimson roses. 

“Let's do this,” said Lisa.

Waylon laced his arm with Lisa's as they slowly walked down the aisle. This was punishment, he knew. She was punishing him for all of the pain of their broken engagement and having to get over their failed relationship. She was now forcing him to lead her down the aisle in front of hundreds of people. Waylon's definition of hell. Well, except for the other hell on Earth he had known personally...

It was sad that even on a perfect, happy day such as the wedding, the past was always present.

Every eye turned to the couple as the standing crowd gave out their _oohs_ and _ahhs_. Eddie had done a beautiful job on the gown. The front was classic white satin with a sleeveless cut, but the back was a long satin train broken up with slashes of crimson fabric all beautifully beaded with ornate patterns that glittered in the low light of the chapel. It was perfectly made for Lisa and she glittered like an angel with her long veil covering her thick brown hair carefully arranged in loose curls.

When they arrived at the front of the church, Miles was standing looking devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo. The past year had convinced the reporter to adopt a more mature style and his once unruly hair was now styled short. Miles looked at Lisa as though he could barely believe she was real—a goddess come to earth.

Then the minister asked who gave away the bride, and Waylon croaked out, “I do.” Lisa snickered quite obviously. Waylon caught the joke. She'd made him walk her down the aisle and say 'I do.' Sly wench. Next Waylon was supposed to remove her hand from his arm and put her hand into Miles'. Before he could fulfill his duty, Lisa turned to Waylon and kissed him, softly, on the lips. She pulled away and their eyes met, probably a second too long. Their love and relationship was strange, but it remained stronger than ever. Lisa would always be important to him. Waylon blushed and smiled as he put her hand into Miles' and took his position at the front of the church. In addition to standing in for Lisa's late father, he was also the Maid of Honor.

The ceremony was short. At least Waylon could thank the happy couple for that mercy. Waylon managed not to drop the ring at the appropriate time. He frowned slightly when Lisa had to slide the golden band onto Miles' right hand as the ring finger on his left hand was lost in the incident. There were always the reminders of what they had survived. 

Waylon glanced out over the huge crowd and saw Eddie sitting at the end of a pew, scowling. Waylon just rolled his eyes. Eddie could have sewn the wedding dress for Princess Kate and then bitched about the lighting in Westminster Abbey not being ideal for his precious creation. Waylon was smiling at him when Eddie finally turned and caught his eye. And then Eddie eye fucked him, right there in the church, in front of everyone. The tailor licked his lips slowly in a way that had Waylon suddenly feeling the tightness of his undergarments despite his earlier session. He looked away quickly and chanted in his head, 'don't get hard in church, don't get hard in church.'

The reception was held in a large building adjacent to the chapel. The new Mrs. Upshur was all smiles and laughs as she greeted friends, family, and even reporters there to write about the happy ending for the hero of the Colorado Gas Chamber tragedy. Miles was loving it. He was getting more work than ever and his book was published and immediately reached the bestsellers list. Oh, and he got Lisa. Waylon hoped Miles knew exactly how lucky he was.

“So how did you two meet?” asked one of the wedding guests when Waylon got close to the couple. 

“We met at a gay bar,” said Miles, and Lisa glared at him and slapped his shoulder.

“We were introduced through a mutual friend,” Lisa said through clenched teeth. Her smile never faltered though her eyes flared a warning at her new groom. “You know, Waylon Park.”

“Ah, the maid of honor,” said the guest. Waylon rolled his eyes as he walked up and smiled at the couple. He shook Miles hand and beamed at Lisa.

“Congrats to you both. Beautiful wedding. Beautiful couple. The day's just perfect,” said Waylon. “I just wanted to check in to see if you needed me before I go stand in line for cake. I won't lie. I really only came here for the cake.”

“Ha. Ha,” grinned Lisa. “No, I think your maid of honor duties are at an end, unless you want to reconsider making that champagne toast about me? Pleeeeeease?”

“You know I would fuck it up. You promised if I agreed to be called a Maid of Honor I would not have to talk into any microphones,” Waylon said.

“Fine, but you're no fun Way. After we get back from the honeymoon, I am going to make you give a speech just to me about how awesome of a friend I am and tell funny anecdotes about the two of us and Miles.”

“If you get me drunk enough...fine,” grinned Waylon. He hugged Lisa one last time before wandering to the back of the room. The line for cake looked long. He spotted something more interesting. 

Eddie looked dazzling in his tuxedo complete with black bow-tie and tails. The terrible incident may have left him scarred, but it only seemed to add more mystery to Eddie's handsome face. Waylon found nothing about his lover unattractive. He was even handsome while scowling. Waylon wandered over to join the group of young women currently talking up Eddie.

“I've done some modeling, and my cousin here is just dying to get into the industry. We wouldn't even ask for payment, just the exposure is enough for us,” said one of the girls, a young and perky brunette.

“Please think about it? We are all very, very willing to model your dresses,” a blond co-ed was saying, gesturing toward her group of attractive friends. Eddie's mouth had already opened, and by the sneer on his face whatever he planned to say would not be pleasant. Luckily, Waylon intercepted.

“Thanks Ladies. We've already done our photos for the website and mailer this season, but will keep you in mind for a future engagement,” Waylon said, reaching into his tuxedo pocket to offer business cards to the women. “And you'll want to ask for me. Eddie is not allowed to handle the customers.” Waylon pecked Eddie on the lips before he could argue. The girls all took the cards and backed away from the couple. “Cake?” Waylon asked his boyfriend, cheerfully.

Eddie grumbled as they walked to the end of the cake line. Some things never changed. Every woman who walked into their dress shop, Gluskin Park Alterations, still ended up flirting with Eddie. Waylon had his work cut out apologizing for Eddie's terrible behavior. Eddie's work transcended what anyone ever expected. Eddie swore he had only gotten better because he had Waylon around as his muse. Waylon thought it had more to do with the fact that Waylon was managing the shop giving Eddie more time to sew and less time spent berating his customer and dealing with the business side of the shop. Waylon did not miss working in information technology. That field had brought nothing but pain. And it wasn't like either of them were hurting for funds.

“You were scowling during the ceremony. Now you're chasing away potential clients,” Waylon whispered, leaning close to his annoyed lover. “Do try to have fun. You know it's a wedding not a funeral?”

“Sorry,” muttered Eddie, but his frown did not budge and Waylon suspected he wasn't sorry at all.

“Is everything alright?” Waylon asked softer, discreetly sliding his hand into Eddie's and giving a brief squeeze. 

“I apologize, darling,” Eddie sighed. “I'm just feeling very distracted.” Waylon frowned and nudged his shoulder against his boyfriend. 

“Don't be so distracted,” Waylon said cheerily. Eddie just groaned in response and squeezed Waylon's hand anew. 

Eddie bent his head to whisper into Waylon's ear, “You're the distraction.” Waylon raised his eyebrows when he looked up at Eddie but he had moved away as though he had never come close. 

“It's almost over,” Waylon said, giving a smirk at the tortured expression on his lover's face. The line was moving steadily and they were only a few people away from retrieving their own slices of cake. 

“It can't be over quick enough, considering what's waiting in the hotel room. And watching you dressed like that...”

“Dressed in a tux? Weren't you were one arguing that a maid of honor should wear a gown. You were trying to convince Lisa that you could design something tasteful for me to wear. Shit, she was almost convinced! You know I would never wear a dress in front of hundreds of people...” Not that the entire world hadn't already seen him in a dress, but that was besides the point. “Nothing but trouble has come from you being friends with Lisa.”

“She's too amazing. Did you see the way she wore that dress? Like a dream,” said Eddie. “You look amazing as well. That tuxedo fits you perfectly...” Eddie purred, eyelids lowering as he looked Waylon up and down. “I tailored it myself.”

“I'm aware,” Waylon grinned. Eddie had spent far too much time measuring his inseam.

“I can't wait to peel it off of you and get you into your present,” Eddie's voice was low and full of promise.

“Okay can you please just behave for another half hour,” Waylon hissed before stepping up and taking a plate of cake. Miles and Lisa had chosen an excellent bakery and the white chocolate cake with cheesecake filling was divine. Waylon took another glass of champagne to have it ready for the toast. Eddie took one too which caused Waylon's brows to shoot up. “Drinking? Really?”

“One sip won't do anything,” Eddie said patiently. “Calm down.” Waylon could not stop beaming at his boyfriend. So cute in his tuxedo and not a single hair out of place. Waylon intended to fix that later. Eddie never drank citing that he never wanted to feel even a little bit out of control. He had kept the self imposed restriction since he was first incarcerated as a teenager. It was strange to see Eddie sipping champagne as if nothing was wrong. It was...normal. If anything about them could ever be considered normal. 

The reception hall was filled with people milling about. Waylon talked to some people he recognized from high school and college. He also managed to bump into a couple of familiar faces including his therapist, Mrs. Jensen, and the lawyer Sean Taylor accompanied by his gorgeous wife.

“Billy,” Waylon smiled as he recognized the shy young man. His face was terribly damaged, even worse than Eddie's, but he still had a kind smile and his hair had grown back thick and brown. “Haven't seen you since the last lawyer meeting after the civil lawsuit.”

“Yeah. Dress shop keeping you two busy I heard,” said Billy.

“Yeah. Yeah, it's going well,” Waylon said, setting down an empty champagne flute on a passing waiter's tray. “What about you? How's school?”

“I'm officially on my way to becoming a health care professional. I really want to work in the mental health field. I uh, have plenty of experience with it now after all...” said Billy, blushing slightly behind his silver scars.

“Hey, no shame in that. I know a few myself if you ever need help getting an internship or something. Sandy Branch is pretty nice. Sometimes shit gets heavy these days and I actually miss that place. If Eddie had been there with me, I might never have left...” Waylon said.

“Why are you guys still in Colorado anyways?” Billy asked.

“Eh, habit I guess. Kind of comfortable here. Boulder is nice,” Waylon said.

“Yeah but, I mean, we're fucking millionaires. We can live anywhere. After I graduate from college I plan on moving somewhere warm to find work. Like, Hawaii, or Miami,” Billy said.

“Sounds like a good plan. I know we've all said it a thousand times but, thanks. I doubt Murkoff would have lost that first trial so devastatingly if you hadn't been able to testify. And after that, the civil suit was a breeze. We all probably owe some of our reparation money to you for that. Not to mention you know, untying me...”

“Hey. No problem. Maybe when we get together at our next survivor meet up event, you buy me a drink,” Billy grinned.

“Are you even twenty one yet?” Waylon questioned.

Billy shrugged. “Who cares? I'm rich.”

Waylon just shook his head. “Take care Billy, I need to separate Eddie and Lisa before they cause trouble.” The friendship of his boyfriend and his ex-fiance over the last year was concerning. It's understandable that they would spend time together with Eddie designing her gown and living with Waylon, but the two grew closer than anyone anticipated.

As soon as Waylon was close enough to catch Eddie and Lisa's conversation, he found himself pulled aside by the man of the hour. “Hey Miles.”

“Park. You don't want to be close to them, I think they're talking about lingerie and honeymoon outfits. They're the weirdest set of friends I swear...”

“Yeah. Lisa seems to pick some pretty strange company...” Waylon said, giving a knowing grin. 

“Look, thanks for being in the wedding. I never really got to thank you properly but I know having you here meant the world to Lisa. I was nervous about the choice at first...” Miles said, looking almost befuddled. It was uncommon for the reporter.

“Well, you did one time say I was trying to replace her dad. Guess you were right,” Waylon quipped.

“No, I mean, I was nervous because, I thought maybe, you know...'does anyone have any objections', yadda yadda...” Miles said, impersonating some kind of official voice.

“Uhhh why would I have objections? I am obviously completely head over heels for Eddie and Lisa has been just a friend for years now...” said Waylon.

“I don't mean because you want Lisa. I mean because, maybe you wouldn't want _me_ to be near Lisa. Considering you're the only person who knows...you know. That talk we had, that we are not ever going to talk about again. From that day. And the...the monster,” Miles whispered the last part.

Waylon put a comforting hand on Miles' shoulder, careful not to mess up the fine tuxedo material. “What happened to you and Eddie isn't permanent. You're not a bad person because of what happened. Neither is Eddie. How could you think I would object to Lisa being with you, when I am with someone that had the same reaction that day?”

Miles gave a shrug and started to muss his hair before remembering how nicely combed and short it was for the event. “Well, thanks. You guys are the best friends we could hope for, and I am even glad you didn't listen to me and got back with Eddie. You two seem pretty made for each other.”

“Thanks Miles,” said Waylon. “That means a lot. Congrats again.” He went to give Miles a hug but since the two were unfamiliar with acting so friendly it turned into a strange half hug handshake monstrosity. Waylon sighed in relief when it was over.

It seemed like forever before Waylon and Eddie were standing in the walkway outside of the building holding handfuls of rose petals. Waylon threw most his at Eddie just to laugh at the intense frown he received while rose petals stuck in Eddie's black hair. Lisa ran through the line of guests laughing and giggling before turning her back to the crowd and throwing her bouquet. A gaggle of single women leaped in the air and ended up almost knocking Waylon over where he stood at the edge of the crowd. The bouquet tumbled over fingertips and was ripped out of hands and flung until it ended up almost hitting Waylon in the face. He could not stop from laughing when Eddie handed the bouquet back to one of the more aggressive women. “You're next, Eddie.”

“Well, you're definitely wearing a dress to _my_ wedding,” Eddie promised and it shut up Waylon's cackling.

On the way out, the two passed the gift table where a hand-painted sign simply requested that in lieu of gifts, friends make a donation to the fund that supports the families of those lost during the disaster at Mount Massive. An usher pushed a thank you present into both of their hands. “From the bride and groom, thank you for coming,” the person, some second-cousin or another, said as they exited. 

“Why am I not surprised,” grumbled Eddie.

“Leave it to Miles to give a copy of his book as a wedding favor,” laughed Waylon. _On the Surface: Uncovering The Truth About Chemical Warfare in America_. The back cover was just a picture of Miles wearing a leather jacket and leaning against some fake tree with a smoldering expression on his face. Waylon rolled his eyes and snickered. 

“Get together and smile for a photo,” came instructions from one of the many camera wielding photographers on sight for the big day. 

“Oh, that's alright,” said Waylon, holding up a hand and putting himself between the camera and Eddie. 

“No,” Eddie said, wrapping his arm around Waylon's shoulder in a typical couples pose. “It's fine. Smile, darling.”

Waylon beamed at Eddie and the camera whirred. Eddie then continued walking back toward their hotel as though nothing shocking had occurred. It was a short walk before the couple was checked into their room. The desk clerk had a small surprise. “It seems Mr. and Mrs. Upshur had a change of travel plans for their honeymoon.”

“You mean book tour,” Eddie said under his breath, making Waylon chuckle. 

“The bride and groom are leaving tonight instead of in the morning. They insisted that the honeymoon suite be given to you two. It's already paid for, nonrefundable,” said the clerk, completely ignoring their side conversation.

“Uh, then, I guess...honeymoon suite it is,” Waylon said, accepting the keys.

Once inside the elevator, both men stared hard at one another over the head of the short elderly woman that had entered just before the doors closed. They had to insert a key to get to the top floor. The room was amazing, but the decor unimportant. As soon as the door closed behind them, Waylon felt himself pushed against the door and impatient lips pressing into his. Eddie quickly reached up to pull the rubber-band clear of Waylon's hair, sighing happily as soft blond hair fell framing their faces. 

It was convenient that Eddie knew so much about formal wear because he was able to quickly remove all of the different pieces of vests, ties, cummerbunds, cuff links, and other ridiculous notions associated with the tuxedo Waylon wore. He took his time when it came to pushing down the pants with their satin stripe on the outer leg. 

Eddie's still formally attired arms wrapped around Waylon once he was bare chested and standing in only his stockings and garter belt. “Prettiest maid of honor I have ever seen. And I see many in my line of work...”

“And you guys wanted me in a dress...” teased Waylon, sighing happily as Eddie ran his fingers through his hair no longer tied back. 

“Wait by the bed. I'm going to get the rest of your ensemble,” said Eddie, bringing Waylon's hand to his lips and kissing it before walking toward where the luggage was waiting. 

Waylon grinned and walked near the bed. It was huge and covered with white pillows and a baby blue comforter. It was situated near a wall of floor to ceiling windows that were closed off by thick drapery. There was always that feeling when you walked into a hotel room that people had slept there before, but in this type of room there was no doubt: people fucked here. Still, everything looked clean and fluffy and Waylon felt slightly guilty considering the way they would probably destroy it before morning.

Lost in thought, Waylon jumped when he suddenly felt arms circling him and a strange black satiny item he'd never seen before being slid around his waist. Eddie adjusted the fabric while Waylon fingered the cloth. It was satiny with some embroidered brocade design and it felt stiff and hard in areas. “A corset,” Waylon laughed. “You're finally going to try to fit me into an actual corset then?”

Eddie hummed low near his ear, “You'll fit. Trust me.” Waylon whimpered softly, trying to turn around to kiss Eddie but he found himself held in place by strong hands gripping his hips. “Now now, patience darling. I need you to stay still, like a good girl.” A hand brushed long blond hair away before warm lips teased along the side of Waylon's neck.

The corset was of a traditional design with the front all boning and fabric while the back was open. Waylon had to hold the garment in place while Eddie began the slow process of lacing up the back. As each lace was drawn the corset began to hug Waylon's curves like a second skin. Before long, the corset stayed in place without any assistance. Waylon surprised his lover when he turned around and gave a sultry grin.

“How do I look?” Waylon asked, a gleam in his brown eyes.

“Gorgeous,” Eddie said, hands resuming their path along Waylon's curves. “But we're not finished yet, darling. I haven't even begun to tighten it yet.” Waylon wasn't sure he liked the devious tone of Eddie's voice at the mention of tightening the corset. 

Deft fingers easily pulled the laces tighter one by one before Eddie pulled back on the cord. Waylon felt an immediate tightening around his stomach. He quickly felt over his own waist, grinning at how it was already cinched smaller from the garment. “I need one of these for some of your dresses back at home. It would help me fill them out better.”

“I like you any way you are,” Eddie said, kissing softly at the back of Waylon's neck as he began to adjust the corset once again making it even tighter. Waylon felt slightly constricted, but nothing beyond what should be expected. His breathing hitched slightly when Eddie's hands slid along his body and even down to his thighs, toying playfully with the elastic pulls of his garter belt. “Lean forward with your hands on the bed.”

Waylon reacted before he could consider the implications of the request. His posture changed when he felt the corset being pulled even tighter. Waylon arched his back, causing his ass to jut out provocatively. Eddie made an appreciative noise before grinding his clothed erection against Waylon's presentation. 

“Dressed like that and acting the whore? I won't be able to control myself if you keep up that behavior,” Eddie put a hand on Waylon's enhanced waist and thrust his crotch against his lover's panties. “We're only just getting started. You might find this more comfortable if you were on your hands and knees on the bed.”

Waylon obeyed but not without a smirk. He made sure to exaggerate the posture as much as comfortably possible to further agitate his lover. “Like this, Eddie?”

Instead of a verbal response, the laces were pulled once again. Waylon hummed a slight protest. The corset was already snug and one more pull had Waylon grunting. The silky outer coverings were deceptive because the garment was actually very stiff and unyielding. Eddie carefully went down the line of laces pulling tighter before holding the long cords in his fist and pulling back with all of his strength. 

“Damn Eddie” complained Waylon, “it's tight enough.” Waylon found it difficult to breathe as deeply as before and he shifted on his hands and knees trying to find some kind of relief from the crushing pressure. Eddie's hands followed the newly invented curves on Waylon's masculine body. They ran up and down his sides several times before Eddie pulled away from the bed. 

Waylon turned around, watching hungrily as Eddie slid out of his tuxedo jacket and began to carefully roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt. He gave a lopsided grin when he caught Waylon staring which made the smaller man blush. Waylon knew it was useless to be embarrassed, but it was an automatic response. No matter how long they were together, Eddie flustered him in the best way.

Waylon averted his eyes, waiting patiently on the bed and experimenting with how he could move and breathe in the restricting garment. The bed dipped as Eddie knelt behind Waylon. Warm hands traveled up Waylon's legs, teasing along the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs. Eddie palmed firmly at his satin panties drawing out a soft moan from Waylon.

The hand disappeared and he couldn't stop the pitiful whimper and slight shake of his hips to tempt his lover to touch him again. Instead, he felt the laces being tugged once again.

“Wait, don't you think it's enough,” Waylon said, panic creeping into his voice. 

A dark chuckle was the only response from behind before Eddie was tugging the cords once again. Waylon attempted to puff out his chest and stomach to fight against the extreme pressure. The slap across his ass was unexpected. “Eddie!” yelped Waylon.

“You really have to behave, otherwise I cannot fit you properly,” Eddie said, his voice low and controlled. The sentence was punctuated with another strong tug at the cords that left Waylon breathless and struggling. Eddie hooked an arm around Waylon's cinched waist and pulled his lover until he was sitting up on his knees. Waylon shuddered when Eddie's clothed body pressed against his back. “You look so beautiful.”

Waylon was not feeling particularly beautiful as he grimaced from the discomfort. Eddie's hands wandering up and down his sides and caressing him through his panties distracted him from the pain. He was struggling to take deep breaths. “Too tight,” Waylon managed. Eddie ignored the complaints and tied off the cords.

“Then I will just have to loosen you up,” Eddie purred in his ear as his hands slid down the front of the corset and hooked into Waylon's panties pulling them down his smooth shaven thighs. There was a pause while Waylon struggled to keep his breathing under control and Eddie shifted against his back. When a hand finally slid between Waylon's leg it was already slippery and warm.

“You know that's not what I meant,” Waylon hissed, his protests cut off quickly when a slick finger began circling his puckered hole. 

“You must give yourself time to adjust to the corset, darling,” Eddie chided, idly teasing Waylon's entrance as he spoke. “You're not taking it off until I'm satisfied that my craftsmanship has truly been tested.”

Waylon started to object but a thick digit broke his line of thought when it penetrated his tight ring. Waylon's head dropped back as he instinctively pushed back against Eddie's hand, moaning at the feel of the finger sinking deeper. 

“You're so hot here, darling,” Eddie said between light nibbles to Waylon's neck. Another slicked finger soon joined the first and began to slide in and out, stretching him slowly. “And so tight.”

Waylon panted for breath while persistent fingers rubbed circles inside of him. Eddie was generous with the lube, adding more when necessary until it was dripping down Waylon's thighs. Wet, squelching noises and soft moans filled the hotel suite. Waylon's hips intuitively sought to push back on Eddie's hand, but he had trouble maneuvering in the corset. He ended up grunting in frustration while Eddie chuckled at his discomfort.

Eddie reached a hand around to stroke Waylon's erection. “Already wet? You're too easy. Though I am thankful for that. I'm eager to feel you.” When the sentence ended, Waylon found himself pushed forward onto his hands and knees. He looked back to see Eddie removing the rests of his clothing and staring hard at Waylon's obscene display. He couldn't resist rocking back on his knees slightly, feeling his ass spread and air cooling the lube glistening there. 

Once his own clothes were gone, Eddie walked and grabbed Waylon's ass cheeks with his hands, bending down to bite directly into one meaty cheek. “Hey!” squeaked Waylon. He made an effort to jump away but Eddie's hands hooked around his thighs at the top of his stockings and held him in place. 

“You know better than that, darling,” said Eddie before using both hands to pull Waylon's panties away and toss them to the floor. “Trying to get away from what you want so desperately.”

Waylon's heart was racing and his lungs burning. It seemed difficult to get enough breath and he knew what the pause meant. He glanced backwards to confirm his suspicions and watched Eddie stroke himself with a slick hand. The noise that escaped Waylon's lips was scandalous and immediately drew Eddie's lidded blue gaze. Waylon licked his lips, his brain suddenly too fuzzy to function. “...want...” was all he managed to convey before Eddie was climbing onto the bed behind him. 

How many times had they done this over their year of living together? And still the fist contact sent a shiver of excitement through Waylon's core. Eddie positioned himself, teasing Waylon's entrance while he waited holding his breath. Waylon began to whine. “Now. Put it in.”

“Of course, darling,” Eddie said with audible smugness. Waylon would have been annoyed except the feeling of Eddie's thick member breaching him suddenly took over all other conscious thought. Finally. A deep groan escaped Waylon as Eddie held onto his corseted waist and eased himself inside. No matter how often they did it or how Waylon prepared, Eddie was large and it was always a tight fit. It was difficult to arch his back and find relief from the increasing pressure invading him. It was a relief when he felt Eddie's skin flush against his ass. 

“So deep,” moaned Waylon, dropping his head forward. 

“Are you alright, my love?” Eddie asked, arching himself over Waylon's body to kiss along his bare shoulders. He carefully moved long blond strands away from Waylon's neck and kissed there, allowing time for his lover to adjust. The two men were so familiar with each others' bodies that Eddie could sense when Waylon was relaxed enough to start moving gingerly. 

“Good,” panted Waylon, head still dropped forward. “More, Eddie.”

At Waylon's insistence, Eddie's hips thrust forward with more force bouncing his lover forward with each movement. Each push brought him deeper into the intense heat of his lover's core and soon he was grunting with the effort.

Oh a normal day, sex with Eddie left Waylon panting, but with the corset pulling in his sides Waylon was finding it difficult to get any breath while enduring his lover's steady pounding. Any attempts to convey his discomfort came out as strangled moans and grunts that only encouraged Eddie to push harder and deeper in order to satisfy his demanding lover. Waylon clutched at the comforter to keep himself upright. 

“Ed...” Waylon managed to cry before his arms finally gave out. Waylon fell forward onto his chest thrusting his ass up further into the air. He felt Eddie's hands toying with the laces of the corset and released a shuddering sigh of relief when the ties loosened. He would finally be able to breathe. Hope turned to dread when he felt the ties somehow being pulled impossibly tighter. Eddie pulled back on the ties with one hand, while holding Waylon's ass with the other, the hard, deep thrusts never faltering. 

“Stop! Eddie! I can't...” but at that moment Eddie's cock slid just right and Waylon's complaints faded into a broken cry of breathless moaning as he stained the comforter without Eddie having touched him at all. 

“How can I stop when you have a reaction like that,” Eddie growled, reaching down as though he needed proof of Waylon's pleasure. He squeezed his hand along Waylon's sensitized shaft, milking out the last dribbles of fluid. Waylon groaned deeply, trying to push himself back up with Eddie still inside of him and the corset feeling tighter than ever. 

Eddie pulled his lithe lover up by the waist and held him tight while Waylon struggled to recover from his climax. “Now...untie me...please,” Waylon panted, leaning on Eddie. He would have collapsed were it not for Eddie's support. 

“I won't untie you until I'm satisfied, I said that remember? If you want me to untie you, you need to show me how badly you want it,” Eddie's words were hot against Waylon's ear and normally he would relish the chance but the difficulty breathing and unexpected orgasm had transformed him into a sweaty mess. 

“Please...”

“Show me,” Eddie commanded, thrusting his hips and spearing deeper into Waylon from the new position. Waylon whined but he also began to move his hips, experimenting with angles and motions until he found the best way to move. Without much stamina he could only manage grinding against Eddie, his ass dragging up and down his lover's shaft with each movement. Eddie's grip on him tightened and he kissed and sucked at Waylon's neck and shoulder. 

“Teasing me you little slut,” scolded Eddie, a harsh jerk of his hips making Waylon cry out. “Work harder.”

Waylon moaned at the command, arching his back as he moved his hips up and down with more force, bouncing against Eddie's muscular thighs with each downward thrust. The constricting corset and position were making it very difficult, but Waylon clung to his lover and rocked his hips without pause. “I want it,” Waylon said, his voice breathy and soft. “Need you to fill me completely. Fuck me Eddie, put a baby in me.”

Eddie's responding growl was feral and Waylon shouted as he was violently pushed forward onto his hands and knees. Waylon allowed himself to be flipped onto his back, not having the breath to protest—and he wouldn't want to anyways. He stared up at Eddie with lidded eyes and mouth open and gasping. 

“That's cheating. You know I can't hold back when you talk dirty,” Eddie said, pushing Waylon's knees back and positioning himself between his legs. “That face you can make drives me crazy.” Eddie entered him again with one harsh thrust. 

The new rhythm was punishing and Waylon felt his teeth clack with each meeting of their hips. “Moan for me whore. I know you love this treatment,” Eddie instructed.

“Fuck,” Waylon hissed, arching his back to push his hips back against Eddie. It was very difficult in the tight corset and Eddie seemed to enjoy watching his pathetic struggles.

“Do you like it this deep,” Eddie said without pausing in his brutal movements. Waylon was lost at the words, moaning incoherently as he was ravaged. Eddie's hair was loose and fell in his face, stuck to his sweat covered forehead. The corset grew more and more uncomfortable from the friction and sweat, not to mention Waylon's desperate need to gulp down more air. 

Waylon's hands flailed helplessly, clawing at Eddie's bare chest and stomach. “Love...,” was all Waylon managed before Eddie was pressing his knees down and burying himself as deep as possible with a loud groan. Waylon moaned and writhed in his grip, the flood of warmth inside him bringing intense relief. Finally, he could catch his breath. 

Those thoughts flew away when he felt a sweaty fist gripping his cock. Waylon squeaked and tried in vain to twist away but Eddie's weight pinning him into the bed and his own exhaustion made it impossible. “Eddie, I can't...” Waylon whined.

“I know you can,” Eddie said, breathing deep and smirking down at his uncomfortable lover. His black hair had become completely undone and fell in front of his bright blue eyes. “You're already leaking. Your body doesn't lie.”

“I'm not lying,” Waylon moaned, squirming uncomfortably though the undeniable tightening in his core that preceded his own orgasm. “Please...”

“You really want me to stop?” Eddie asked, quickening his movements and swirling his thumb over Waylon's wet tip. He pressed his hips forward and Waylon could feel Eddie's fluids leaking out around his boyfriend's invasive member. “I think you're lying. Now be a good slut and spill again.”

Waylon gripped at Eddie's hand as if to stop his movements, but instead he felt himself tightening and then he threw his head back on the bed and came for the third time that night. His body could not refuse Eddie's request. He doubted he had anything less to spend, but the lack of air and persistent touching made his climax intense. Waylon converted into a shuddering and gasping mess on the bed, utterly destroyed. He was thankful when Eddie withdrew and allowed his limbs to fall uselessly on the bed. He lay there dizzy his knees having fallen open and feeling the thick strand of fluid dripping from between his cheeks.

“Not very ladylike, darling,” Eddie quipped, taking in the sight of his wrecked lover.

“I didn't even have anything left,” Waylon complained. Eddie just chuckled and swiped two fingers over Waylon's abused cock. He brought them up for Waylon to see the proof. “Well, I still wouldn't have thought...” Eddie licked his fingers in front of Waylon, causing him to forget what exactly it was he was trying to say. 

Eddie helped Waylon turn over and untied the corset with skilled fingers. Waylon could feel his breaths growing deeper with each tug of the laces until finally the garment was loose enough that it could slide down his body, though Eddie left it in place. He slid onto the bed behind Waylon and wrapped a protective arm around his tired lover. 

“You are so beautiful,” Eddie purred, running his sweaty, messy fingers through Waylon's long blond hair.

“I feel like I need a hundred showers,” Waylon said, giving a tired chuckle. “Hope you have fun carrying all the luggage tomorrow because I'm going to be useless. And I'm getting you back for that. Once we're home and I'm not so sore, your ass is mine.”

Eddie pushed himself up on his elbow and stared around the room. The movement drew Waylon's attention and he struggled to roll onto his back so he could see Eddie's expression. He looked tense. Nervous. Waylon brought a hand up to gently caress his cheek. “Hey,” Waylon whispered to reclaim Eddie's attention. “Everything okay?” Eddie hummed, still peering around the room. “There's no reason to be paranoid. We're safe. I've got you.”

Eddie cast a loving smile down at his boyfriend, kissing Waylon's lips briefly. “I know, darling. I am merely suspicious. It seemed a little too convenient, Lisa handing us over this great room. I really do not put it past that woman to have some kind of camera in here.”

“Oh my god,” laughed Waylon. “She knows our bad experiences with cameras, she would never...”

“Yes because she has never tried to walk in and catch us in a compromising position before. I swear, we need to take our key back from that woman...”

“That reminds me, I wanted to send her a text. I need a copy of that picture we took,” said Waylon, reaching up to sweep black strands of Eddie's hair away from his face. “I know you don't like taking pictures, but I am tired of the only framed photo I have of us being the cover of Newsweek with us kissing at the trial.”

“I like that picture,” Eddie protested, settling back down onto the bed and holding Waylon close. “If I had known my confession would bring such a great reaction, I would have confessed the moment I saw you back at court.”

Waylon sighed happily, feeling thoroughly fucked. He wanted nothing more than to fall asleep in his lover's arms, the way he did every night since their reunion. And though the honeymoon suite was spectacular, he preferred their home together. He was glad to not have to clean up the mess they had made on the rented bed, though. “It was a beautiful wedding, but I am so glad it's over,” Waylon muttered, sleepily.

“Have you put any further thought into...my...well, the proposed idea...” Eddie's whispered question seemed shy and unsure. It tugged at Waylon's heart and made him feel warm all over.

“I love you Eddie. I only want to be with you. I'm sure we can find a nice way to show everyone in our own time,” Waylon whispered. “We have plenty of time now. After surviving everything we have and coming out together, there's nothing that can keep us apart ever again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end of July, I got pneumonia and was unable to do much for two weeks. During that time, I read just about every fic I could about Eddie and Waylon, then wrote over 100 word pages of this story. Definitely inspired by all the fics that I read-- this fandom has some very talented people and great works. Thanks to everyone that read and inspired me to add onto the original and really step out of my comfort zone as an author. I really love this fandom and I'm so glad I found it. 
> 
> Special Thanks to everyone that commented or got in touch with me to say the story was cool. That was really sweet. Especially you guys that found it when I first posted and then stuck around til the end! Morbida, Outlast25, thelovearesick, himeko7 some of the first ones, and Painty and Xyzxx for their support. EVERY one who left a comment you made me want to be better and keep going. You all made me feel like people were reading and it really made a difference. Shit, I think I added like 6 chapters just because I wanted to add more! Whether that was a good decision or not...I'm unsure. It's done now!
> 
> Thanks for reading!! I am considering doing some small continuations like one-shots (fluffy or smutty). I want to write more for this fandom but I am picky about what I post so we'll see. Yay Happy Ending on a EdxWay Fic! OTP! I know that's not the norm in this fandom, but I guess that's why I wrote it and I wrote what I wanted in a fic and this is the result. Yay. If you read it all and liked it, or hated it, leave a comment, I will read it, and smile, and possibly write more stuff because of said smile.


End file.
